


The Nature of Belief

by FrostInTheWarren



Series: Myth Among Myths [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Baby Tooth is Jack's first believer., Baby Tooth is god damn amazing., Baby Tooth is the key to Jack's 'Flipping Shit' switch., Feels? I guess., Gen, Jack Frost Needs A Hug, Jack has a cave., Jack has a thing called hope; and it's kept him kicking so far., M/M, Pitch is burdened with great emphasis, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smiley flakes are a thing, The one where Jack's confidence issues are even worse., The one where absolutely no one can see Jack., What the hell am I doing writing a chapter story, Yeah there's feels.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostInTheWarren/pseuds/FrostInTheWarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost just wants to be seen. A little hard, when you're a myth among myths, and not even your fellow spirits can see you. It only gets harder when the Man in the Moon decides Jack is to be a Guardian. But how is that even possible, when the only thing that even knows you exist is a little tooth fairy?<br/>(Or: Jack's heart breaks a lot, Baby Tooth is a damn good friend, and Bunny will <em>eventually</em> make away like a bandit with Jack Frost.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Come and find me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY SHOULDN'T BE POSTING THIS GUYS. I TOLD MYSELF I WOULD WAIT UNTIL IT WAS FINISHED AAAAGH.  
> But I was so happy and fluttery at the reviews on 'Jack Be Nimble' that I couldn't help myself. ((I GOT A REVIEW FROM ONE OF MY FAVE AUTHORS OOOOH MYYY SWEEEEEET JEEEESUUUS.))  
> Oh well. I'm posting this for now to get a feel for what people think, so I can gauge how swiftly I need to keep working on it, or if I should put it on the back-burner in favor of other works.  
> WARNING: This story will contain a few headcanons. (Nothing extreme or character-altering, I promise. Just little stuff.)
> 
> QUICK UPDATE: Fixed that spacing issue. Was driving me nuts, too.

* * * * *

He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.  
\--Rafael Sabatini, _Scaramouch_ , 1921

* * * * *  


**Past:**  


In the two years he’d been around, Jack Frost had found that the Moon had a way of being silent that made graveyards seem like banquet halls.  


He tapped his staff on the ice, thickening it around the edges on his lake. It was a normal, routine act. He was always careful to keep the ice thick enough to skate safely on. It wouldn’t do for one of the kids to fall through. Just the thought had him clutching his staff with some phantom anxiety, terrified him so deeply he sent even more ice to the thinnest parts.  


For the kids, he reminded himself, ignoring the part of him that insisted it was his own terror that fueled his actions.  


He hopped onto his staff, one foot in the crook and the other on top. He watched the village children skate, chuckling when they wobbled or tipped over. Despite being upset that they couldn’t see him, Jack loved the children. They were so carefree in a way adults weren’t, more open to his kind of play. He always made sure to keep his lake ready for them in winter. He kept the edges clear, tamped down a path back to the village, and drew his best frost designs on the trees just for them. He loved to watch them marvel at the fern-like patterns, tracing them with tiny hands and fingers.  


A startled yelp drew his attention to his right, where a child tottered on one skate, the other thrown up in the air and arms wheeling as he tried to catch his balance.  
“Careful!” he called on reflex, a grin lighting his face.  


The child fell, crying out as he landed flat on his back. Jack laughed, ready to make a witty comment to himself, when the boy began sobbing and rolled onto his side. Blood stained the ice where the boy had lay, the back of his shirt torn open in shreds at his shoulder blades. Jack’s grin plummeted, concern and confusion warring in his expression.

He jumped from his staff, grabbing it and hurrying to the boy’s side.  


“You okay kid?” He knew the question was redundant, even as he asked it.  


“Matthew!” The eldest member of today’s skating group, a quartet of siblings, rushed over, cradling the boy’s head in her lap. She called the other children, ordering them off the ice and to head home. Taking her skates off, she lifted her young brother—Matthew, Jack reminded himself—into her surprisingly strong arms.  


“He’ll be okay,” Jack said, standing in front of her to make sure she didn’t slip. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. Kids heal quickly.”  


The teenager didn’t respond, not that he’d expected her to, and proceeded to walk through him.  


Jack closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the painful sensation of someone ripping the air from his lungs, and sucked in a long, almost bitter breath through his nose as the feeling passed. With a quiet sigh, he shook the disappointment away and turned to smile at their backs as the group left. “Bye! Come back soon and I’ll set up something awesome for you guys!” He waved until they were no longer visible, then turned to look at the small section of bloodied ice.  


There was something strange about it, he decided, squatting for a closer look with his staff thrown over shoulder. This ice was rough, some of it wickedly sharp looking where it had ripped through the boy’s shirt. The ice on Jack’s lake was never sharp or rough when it was time for skating. He always kept it smooth for them, and hadn’t failed to do so in the two years of his existence. Which begged the question, _where had this ice come from?_  


There was a malicious snigger from the tree line behind him, and Jack whirled around, staff in hand and poised to defend. The creature that emerged, for Jack knew this was no human, had him lowering it in surprise and shock.  


 _A sprite_. Jack had actually found a _sprite!_  


Jack had never actually met another member of the mystical world. Oh, he’d heard of them; beings and spirits like him who had magic and powers, but until today he’d never actually seen one.  


The sprite, who Jack identified from the descriptions he’d overheard from children and adults that visited his lake, stepped across the snow and the cleared embankment onto the ice. He was tall, hair as white as Jack’s own spiked to vicious points and tipped with frost. His skin was pale, wintery blue and covered by handsome gray trousers and an expensive looking blue tunic. Despite the obvious fine quality, they were ripped along the hems, as though the owner didn’t care how rough he treated them. Pointed ears gleamed with silver cuffs, teardrop gems hanging from the lobes. Dark eyes gleamed as the sprite smirked at the bloody ice.  


As ecstatic as Jack was to have finally met someone even remotely like him—conversations! He’d get to have _real conversations!_ —the look immediately tipped him off to the culprit of the tampered ice.  


“Hey!” He tapped his staff, smoothing out the roughened ice and making the sprite frown. “I know messing with the kids is fun—even I get a kick out of ’em falling sometimes—but we don’t want to _hurt_ them.” The sprite didn’t answer, still frowning at the patch and beginning to walk towards him. “Look, I know you’re mad but seriously, making them hurt themselves is not okay.” Jack scowled at the continued silence, the sprite right in front of him now. “Could you at least _look_ at me when I’m—”  


Jack coughed violently as the sprite walked through him, feeling as though his lungs had just squeezed themselves shut, heart stuttering to a halt for a terrifying, breathless second. This hurt so much _worse_ than the other times he’d been walked through. He wheezed as he regained his breath, straightening from the hunched position he’d adopted. There was panic in his gaze as he turned around, panting and wide-eyed.  


“You can’t hear me,” he said to the sprite’s back, who didn’t turn or acknowledge that he’d spoken. He moved to stand in front of the sprite,right where the rough ice had been. He stared into dark eyes that looked right through him. “You can’t see me.”  


For a few moments there was silence, then the sprite huffed and kicked the ice before walking back into the woods.  


Jack Frost stood on the lake for several hours, watching the Moon as it rose, silently pleading for an explanation he would never receive.  


Jack would later tell himself that he didn’t care. That he was glad the winter sprite hadn’t seen him. Afterwards he began watching them when he could, and they were all mean anyway. Who wanted a mean sprite to be the first person they ever talked to? Certainly not him.  


It was too bad he would never be good at lying to himself.  


While this was the first time a mystical being would walk through him, it wasn’t even close to the last.

* * * * *

**Present:**  


Nicholas St. North was not a man to be taken lightly. He did his job to his best effort and fullest extent, but most of all he did it happily and with a grin that often had Bunny rolling his eyes at North’s post-Christmas banquets. He was a man of innovation and ingenuity, and had never been faced with something he could not overcome without a little help from his magic, his center, or his swords (and perhaps, when the problem involved freak blizzards, a glowing red light from a brave little reindeer).  


So it was with utmost surety that North faced down an annoyed E. Aster Bunnymund after calling the Guardians together with the Aurora.  


“Come on, mate, Pitch went out with the dark ages. We made sure of that, remember?” Bunnymund swirled his brush on the egg in his hand, giving North an exasperated look.  


“I know it was him. We have serious situation!” North countered. His attention, as well as the others’, was caught as Sanderson Mansnoozie, his longtime friend and the Sandman, shook a poor elf by his belled hat. Sandy pointed at the opening in the ceiling of the Globe Room, a crescent moon of sand forming above his head.  


“Ah! Man in Moon! Sandy, why didn’t you say something?” North turned, missing the deadpan stare and annoyed look Sandy shot him, raising his arms welcomingly at the moon that peeked through the opening. “It’s been a long time, old friend. What is big news?”  


A beam of moonlight centered on the floor, ebbing away until an unpleasantly familiar silhouette formed. A shadow of Pitch Black.  


“It is Pitch,” Bunny acknowledged lowly.  


North pat his belly knowingly and tipped his head, then directed his attention back to the moon. “Manny, what must we do?”  


The moonlight brightened, concentrating on an ornate symbol. The four Guardians gathered around as blue light shone from a large crystal that rose from the floor. Toothiana fluttered nervously, her fairies flicking around her as she awed at the crystal. “Ah, guys, you know what this means?”  


“He’s choosing a new Guardian,” North awed.  


“What?” Bunnymund stuttered. “ _Why?_ ”  


“Must be big deal,” North noted. “Manny thinks we need help.”  


Bunnymund huffed. “Since when do _we_ need help?”  


Toothiana weaved in the air, excitement widening bright purple-pink eyes. “I wonder who it’s gonna be?” At a symbol from Sandy, she added, “Maybe the Leprechaun?”  


Bunnymund clasped his paws together fervently, murmuring, “Please not the Groundhog, please not the Groundhog.”  


The light grew brighter as it refracted through the crystal’s facets, and for a moment the room was a brilliant show of dazzling blue. And then it dimmed, congealing into the area above the crystal to reveal—  


No one.  


North frowned at the blue light, which didn’t seem to be forming any kind of discernible figure.  


“Ah, is it supposed to do that mate?” Bunny came to stand by North, peering closely at the crystal.  


North shook his head. “I am not sure, has never done this before.” He glanced up at the moon, a frown on his face.  


Sandy formed the image of a broken crystal in his sand.  


“No. I do not believe is broken.” North crossed his arms, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps Manny is telling us something.”  


Toothiana flew forward to contribute to the conversation, not noticing the single fairy that seemed to hover closer and closer to the doorway before it snuck out, flying as quickly as its wings could carry it to North’s office. The fairy squirmed under the door, no problem after the number of pillows she squeezed under routinely. She spotted the snow globes on one of the shelves, and pictured a frozen lake before knocking it over, a portal opening to her destination. She flew through, determined to find the person she was looking for.  


No one else may have been able to see the image formed above the crystal, but she definitely had. And this little fairy, known to only one person as Baby Tooth, knew exactly where she might find Jack Frost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, gauging reactions so I can determine this story's priority on my backlog of fic ideas. (One of which does include, yes, a sequel to 'Jack Be Nimble.' (Which some of you probably have no clue about. I won't assume that you people read everything I write.))


	2. I'll see you smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn it you guys. I was seriously wanting to wait to post this, but then I got a huge amount of reviews.  
> AAGH you guys and your supportive and interesting feedback are going to be the death of me!  
> Don't expect anymore chapters to be up as speedily as this one. I have a rule: No posting a new chapter, until at least one more has been written ahead. (And yes, that does mean chapter three is done. And no, that does not mean you're going to get it today or tomorrow or the day after that and in fact, don't expect anything until next week. It's not going up until chapter four, and hopefully chapter five, are written.)  
> Anyways, please enjoy! I hope you like this chapter; it's considerably longer than the previous!

* * * * *

Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.  
\--Dag Hammarskjold, _Markings_ , tr. 1964

* * * * *  
 **Past:**

Jack Frost smiled to himself, perfectly happy to watch the children play around the fire pit at the entrance of the tiny village. He usually avoided this place, the memory of the first times he was walked through a leading factor in that decision, but ever since his discovery two years ago that even those who were like him couldn’t see him, he’d begun venturing out more. He was determined to keep trying, even if it hadn’t worked so far. Sure the sprites and even Mother Nature hadn’t been able to see him the one time he’d found her, but _someday…_

Jack blinked his thoughts away, refocusing on his task. He’d worry about that later, when he was back at his lake or the cave he’d begun converting into a living space. For now, he had one last light snow to give for the season before spring came along.

He summoned his magic, sending it through the staff to the clouds, watching as it slowly became overcast and a light snowfall began. He’d been immensely proud of himself when he’d learned to do that. It had snowed before when he was upset, but he’d never been able to control it until recently, and he knew it was something even the winter sprites couldn’t do. 

He stepped back, laughing as the children ran about trying to catch the snowflakes on their tongues. It didn’t take long for a snowball fight to begin, the packed down snow from previous storms providing excellent ammunition. He leaned on his staff as he watched.

“Isn’t that the Overland girl?”

The snippet of conversation caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder at the two gossiping women that stood just behind him.

“It is! I rarely see her about these days.”

“She rarely _is_ about these days.”

“What’s she doing out now, then?”

“I heard the Overlands are moving to a new settlement today. Traveling west. They leave before noon.”

“Ah, well, I can see _why_ , after what happened to the Overland boy.”

“Hush you! You know how hard it’s been on them.”

“I’m just _saying_. His loss took its toll on everyone in the village. It’s sad how much it still affects them so—that they’d want to leave just to get away from it. Especially the Overland girl. Poor thing. Pitiable, really.”

Jack frowned, for some reason firmly wishing he could tell these women to _mind their own business_. Breathing a sigh of frustration, he sent a small slick patch to the feet of the chattier of the two, and turned to find the subject of their conversation. 

It wasn’t hard. Twenty feet away or so, on the other side of the firepit, a young teenager sat on a large log that would be chopped up and used for kindling. She wore a simple muslin dress, nearly the color of her brown hair and eyes. She had a pretty little mark under her right eye, eyes that were suited to smiles, but none graced her lips. She was watching the other children play, but made no move to join. A bit apart from her a loaded wagon stood by the village entrance. A man and woman conversed with other adults as they hitched horses to the front.

Jack wandered over. He plopped onto the log with her, resting his staff at his side. He watched the children with her, snickering as they pelted each other with snowballs.

“Good shot!” he praised one child. He turned to his neighbor, groaning when she hadn’t changed expression from a solemn mask even slightly. “Oh come on! He knocked him right over. It’s at least a little funny!”

When she still didn’t show any amusement, Jack huffed and began to frown. He looked at his feet pressed in the snow. He bit the inside of his lip as he thought. 

For some reason, he just wanted her to smile.

He spun his entire body to face her on the log, straddling it and leaning forward on his palms. “Hey, do you like snow?” She didn’t answer, but he didn’t expect her to. “I bet you do.” Raising a hand, he focused on what he wanted, and a snowflake slowly began to form on the tip of his finger. He smiled with satisfaction. He’d never tried to make snow purely from his own magic before. Ice, sure, but not snow. Snow he summoned from the air, kick-started into a storm, what have you. It was nice to know he could.

He held the flake just between her eyes. “Come on,” he murmured, and there was a small bit of longing there, “smile for me, okay?” He tapped the tip of her nose.

The flake burst into a small shower of sparkling blue mist. To both of their surprise, she let out a loud laugh that she immediately muffled with her hands. She looked around in shock, as though seeking the unknown catalyst to her sudden mirth.

Jack chuckled, pleased with the unexpected side effect. “I’ll have to use those more often!” He contemplated for a time, snapping his fingers in a moment of punny enlightenment as he mentally dubbed them ‘smiley flakes.’

Meanwhile, the girl had ceased her search, and was now holding her hands over her mouth to hide the growing smile behind her fingers. Her thoughts seemed to travel inward, and a firm decision settled across her eyes. She lowered her hands to her lap, stared at the snow, and slowly, as though she was not used to the act, smiled shyly with pretty white teeth.

Jack felt an answering smile on his lips, exhaling in a breathy laugh. Something warm curled in his chest, and he committed this tiny girl to memory. 

A shout he didn’t pay attention to sounded behind him, and the girl stood up, called to attention. Jack’s shoulders dropped as he realized she was leaving, and stood to hover a few feet behind her with his staff. The family got into the covered wagon, the father taking the reins at the front. They exiedt the village and he waited at its entrance, waving goodbye, a little sad that she was leaving. He saw her poke her head out of the back, smiling wide enough to split her face in two.

Never looking at him, she shouted to the entire village, “Goodbye, Jack!” Then she retreated back into the covered wagon, and he never saw her again.

Jack froze with his hand in the air, eyes wide and jaw slack. He composed himself quickly and called the wind to carry him away, back to his lake. He landed on the ice, going over what he wanted to do. There was the lake. He needed to thicken the ice for last minute skaters of the season. Then the cave he’d been clearing out, it needed tending to…

Jack sat down, and buried his face in his knees as he suppressed a rippling sob.

She hadn’t been talking to him. He knew that. She couldn’t see him; no one could.

_But still…_

Even if she wasn’t talking to him, it was nice to hear someone say his name.

Breathing deeply, unable to stop the tears that slipped from his eyes and froze in glistening frosted tracks on his cheeks, he let himself cry.

Hours later he felt lighter, her voice and happiness having left him the most content he’d been since the night he first woke up.

* * * * *

**Present:**

Jack wasn’t surprised to find himself staring, as he had many a night previous, at the Moon.

“If there’s something I’m doing wrong,” he said, “could you just tell me? Because I have tried _everything_ , and no one sees me.” He clutched his staff in the following silence, lips thinning with accusation even as he eyes pled. “You put me here,” he accused, “the least you can do is tell me…,” his voice faded shakily, and he had to force himself to finish, “tell me _why_?”

The Moon didn’t answer.

Jack lowered his head, turning away. He walked onto a nearby power line, his staff freezing it as he goes. 

Well, at least he’d had fun today. Jamie Bennett was a heck of a kid, and a great sport when it came to Jack’s brand of mischief. 

Bright streams of gold lit the night sky. He chuckled quietly to himself and smiled, lowering his hood as the glow of dream sand passed overhead. Jack made to leap and brush his fingers in it, but caught himself just before the tips of his fingers could come into contact, retracting his hand reluctantly.

“No need for that Jack,” he said to himself. “No need to be reminded of the last time.”

Talking to himself was a perfectly natural occurrence for Jack Frost. He’d learned quickly that if he didn’t talk to himself, then who would? No one, that’s who. The only person who ever noticed him couldn’t technically speak to him in anything other than twitters and chirps, and he rarely saw her. Not that he was angry about that. He loved and cherished every moment with her. He just wished…

Shaking his head, Jack cast the thoughts away. He was grateful for what he had. He wouldn’t give it up for anything. He continued along the power line, when a faint twitter caught his ear. Blinking, he looked around, catching sight of a small fairy approaching him. 

“Baby Tooth!” In an instant Jack smiled, all teeth and squinted eyes, showcasing the feature he knew was her favorite.

She barreled into his chest, rubbing her face into his hoodie and twittering a mile a minute. He cupped her in his hands, staff tucked under his arm as he curled up, knees pulled to his chest midair and shoulders hunching him into as small a ball as he could make himself.

It’s the closest he’d gotten to hugging someone in three hundred years.

When he uncurled himself Baby Tooth was cradled in his palms, twittering slowly and looking up at him with bright, happy eyes. He took this as meaning, “I missed you.”

Jack’s heart ached in wonderful acknowledgement, and he leaned down to nuzzle her against his cheek. “I missed you too, Baby Tooth.”

She pat his cheek gently, her feathers soft as she nuzzled back. Then she pulled away and flew up, so he straightened to face her. She began squeaking and tugging his hood, flying a few feet away and back, repeating it until he understood what she wanted. “You want me to come with you?”

She squeaked an affirmative, hovering in front of him. He considered for a moment, then smiled. He saw her so little as it was, he’d never miss an opportunity to spend time with Baby Tooth. 

She swooned a little at the slight show of teeth in his smile, and flew to settle atop his head. She gripped his hair carefully, chirping a tiny demand.

He laughed, silently calling for wind. The wind lifted him and they flew into the night sky. “Alright Baby Tooth, lead the way.”

She led him north, surprising him when they went further and further into the cold. He began to suspect where she was leading him, and confirmed his suspicions when they had to bypass the wards surrounding North’s workshop. 

“Baby Tooth,” he began slowly, “why are we going to Santa’s workshop?”

She twittered dismissively, and led him to a lone open skylight. He flew through, landing atop a large metal globe gleaming with bright lights. Below were the four Guardians, and sticking out of the floor a giant crystal with—

“Is that _me_?” Jack’s brows shot up, and he floated down to hover beside the image of himself. Baby Tooth twittered a yes, flying between him and the crystal image.

“It must mean we’ll know ’em when we find ’em.”

Jack turned from the crystal, dropping to stand next to it. His eyes flicked between the Guardians, listening as they spoke.

North stroked his beard, considering Bunny’s words. “Maybe is not spirit?”

Jack sighed when he noticed how North appeared to stare through the Jack-image on the crystal. “You can’t see me.” His tone was bland on words he’s spoken too many times to remember.

Bunny rolled his eyes, scratching behind an ear with his foot. “And who’d he pick then? A human? Not bloody likely. No,” he gestured toward the crystal, “if it was something like that, Manny would’ve at least told us that much.”

Jack halted in the process of freezing the bell on an elf’s hat, whirling around to stare wide-eyed at Bunny. “The Man in the Moon…he _talks_ to you?” Jack turned to the Moon, peering up at it in naked hurt. “Why, why won’t you talk to me then?”

“Perhaps you are right.” North sighed. “Still…”

Baby Tooth flew to her mother’s side. Toothiana cuddled the little fairy, a humorous glint in her eyes as she jokingly quipped, “Maybe it’s Jack Frost?” Jack’s attention perked. “This little one’s quite the fan.”

Bunny snorted. “Jack Frost? Please, if the bloke existed, I’d have a thing or two to say to him. Easter of ’68, for one. Blighter’d be the type for that kind of destruction.”

Jack bristled, remembered shame clenching his throat. A heavy frown weighed on his lips and he hovered just in front of Bunny’s face. “I wasn’t in a good place in ’68,” and there was a pure ring of truth to the desperate explanation, “I didn’t even know it was Easter.”

“Bunny, don’t be so harsh.” Tooth pat the top of Baby Tooth’s head, who appeared visibly upset by Bunny’s words. “This fairy’s one of the myth’s biggest fans. She’s very taken with Jack Frost—I think she really believes in him.”

“Believe what you want little sheila,” Bunny said, smirking in amusement, “but you might be better off believin’ in somethin’ that actually exists.”

“ _I exist!_ ” Jack gripped his staff in a white knuckled hold, alighting on the floor. Baby Tooth chittered anxiously, her gaze flicking to the air just in front of Bunny, where Jack Frost stood unseen to all but her. 

“Oh hush, Bunny,” Tooth scolded lightly. “You’re just jealous none of my fairies get excited over you.”

“Whatever you say, Tooth.” Bunny shrugged humorously. “At least people actually believe in me.”

Okay, _ow_. Jack sucked in a sharp breath. That hurt. That hurt a lot. 

“People do believe in me,” he murmured. “Baby Tooth—Baby Tooth believes in me.” He met her gaze from her mother’s hands, and the little fairy’s strong, affirming nod was a wonderful balm to the ache in his chest.

Taking slow, deep breaths he blinked away tears he didn’t acknowledge, and stared into green eyes that looked right through him.

“My existence may be a joke to you,” he said, “but it’s not. _I’m_ not. I’m real, and someday,” the words grew softer, and carried with them the kind of wear that comes from repeated, hopeful use, “someday you’ll believe in me.”

It was all he could hope for.

* * * * *

The Guardians separated in North’s workshop soon after, to consider and think to themselves for a bit before converging to formulate a game plan. 

Jack followed North, a giddy grin lighting his face as he looked around. He began talking at North. “You know, I’ve broken in before, but I’ve never gotten to really look around.” He spun about on his heels as he tried taking everything in at once, dodging yetis and elves. “I always,” –ran away– “left before I could, or got kinda kicked out…” He paused as he spotted one yeti in particular, dark gray fur frosting at the tips as Jack passed his hand directly over. “Hey Phil.”

Phil blinked and shivered as something cool passed by him, brow furrowing at how familiar the sensation was. He hadn’t felt the presence of the whatever-it-was for over two hundred years. Huffing, he carried on in his work, a part of him glad it was back. He’d sort of missed it.

Jack and North entered the latter’s office. North took a seat behind a large desk, resting his elbows on the surface and folding his hands in front of his mouth. Focused eyes glanced around the room, North’s expression the most serious Jack’s ever seen it.

Jack placed his hands and staff coyly behind his back, bending over and tilting his head and body so that he looked at North from a ninety degree angle. “You know, you’re kind of intimidating for a big guy in a red suit.”

When North’s expression didn’t change, he huffed in false annoyance, throwing his hands up. “Fine! Ignore me; everybody else does.” He chuckled, and began looking around and ignoring the slight he’d made against himself. Jack had long since learned that if something wasn’t funny when it came to him, it had a way of becoming very sad very quickly.

He skimmed baubles on shelves with his fingers, leaving a fine layer of frost. He startled when he accidentally knocked a small nesting doll from the shelf, the top of the first layer popping off and rolling across the floor. Jack winced at the noise. “Whoops.” He glanced sheepishly at North.

North blinked at the doll, confused for a moment before standing to retrieve the pieces. He cradled it in his palm, then smiled as he removed the next layer, laughing for each facet until he reached his core.

Jack hovered over shoulder, peering with bewilderment at the doll. “Why,” he questioned in a low deadpan, “is there a tiny wooden baby?”

North sighed fondly, putting the back together and placing it back on the shelf. He blinked when his hand brushed something cold, and he swiped his finger through it. Inspecting the rapidly melting ice on his skin, he furrowed his great brows. “Frost?” he voiced wonderingly, and when he looked began to notice the icy ferns that had settled on a small number of other things on the shelves in the room as well.

Tooth’s earlier words came to mind, and he smiled good naturedly. Jack Frost, indeed. The myth was one of the more amazing things in their world. It had started as a whisper, a human idea. Not really believed in, but the spirits and sprites and mystical creatures of the world had taken a shine to it. How fun to adopt a myth of their own, even if they knew it wasn’t real! Bunny had taken to blaming it for Easter mishaps, and even he had been cursing the nonexistent spirit during the Rudolph fiasco. It was quite cute that one of the little fairies actually believed in the frost child.

North huffed in amusement, wiping wet fingers on his shirt. One of these days, he mused, he really must figure out who the little prankster was that kept putting Jack Frost’s name on the naughty list. It was an old joke, having appeared consistently on the list for three hundred years or so now, about the time the myth had first started cropping up. It swapped over to the nice list occasionally in the beginning, but now firmly stayed naughty. As amusing as it was, he should probably catch the prankster and issue a warning not to mess with the other names. But it seemed to be all in good fun, so he’d let it go for a while, another decade perhaps.

He nearly slipped on his way back to his desk, and looked curiously at the thin ice on the floor in front of him. Strange, it must have been colder in here than he thought.

Jack smiled from his cross-legged perch on his staff. “Sorry about that, but you were getting a little too introspective for my tastes.” He waggled his fingers, and the ice retreated.

He leaned his staff forward at an angle a mathematician would polish his protractor for, and for all intents and purposes should have been sent toppling to the ground. It was fortunate for Jack that gravity was something he obeyed only when he felt like it, a small piece of his dear wind constantly with him to keep him airborn. He stared into North’s eyes, smiling as apologetically as he could. “As nice as talking to you is, and as curious as this whole situation has made me, I think it’s time I leave. The Moon’s just being the great troll in the sky as usual, and frankly, being here is kind of bumming me out.” His face became more and more closed off the longer he spoke. “So thanks and all, even though you didn’t even know I was here, but I’ll be leaving now.” 

Before Jack could hop off his staff, a flash of bright feathers passed by the window, and Bunnymund barged into the room. “We got a problem.”

North stepped forward and right through Jack, who gasped and clutched his chest over the squeezing of his heart and lungs and wheezed. “Yeah,” Jack quipped caustically, “ _that_ doesn’t get old.”

North shivered, a faint cold chill prickling his skin. Odd, between that and the frost he’d have to check the thermometers later. “What is wrong?”

Bunny’s face was grim. “Trouble at the Tooth Palace.”

In an instant Jack was hovering at their side, pain forgotten, replaced with worry for Baby Tooth and her sisters.

“Let’s go,” he said needlessly, because North and Bunny are already leaving the room. Jack didn’t hesitate to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Whistles to herself* You're just going to have to wait for more if you want to know things that have been hinted at~  
> (I am a big fucking tease.)  
> Soooo...if you'd be so kind as to leave a comment about what parts you enjoyed most, or any lines that might have stuck out to perk your interest, it would be most welcome. :D I find that kind of stuff fascinating and helpful.  
> ((PS--I GOT REVIEWS FROM ANOTHER FAVE AUTHOR GUYS. THAT'S TWO OUT OF MY FAVORITE FOUR. I'M DYYYYYING.)


	3. I'm empty and I'm cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gotten tremendous support for this story, and I thank you all for it so much! I'm so excited to post this chapter! I can't wait to finish chapter five so I can post chapter four, because HO SHIT WHAT I HAVE PLANNED FOR YOU GUYS.  
> That said, please enjoy the chapter. I'll catch you all at the end in the notes there. And going off what reviews have said, I guess I should warn for feels?
> 
> PS--I went back and fixed up some tense issues in the previous chapters, and this chapter should all be in the same tense. It's one of my biggest problems as a writer, that my thoughts tend to shift tenses as I write for some reason. Shouldn't be a problem anymore, cause I'm getting better at catching it, and since I write the chapters out before I type them it makes it easier in editing. 
> 
> Enjoy. :D

* * * * *

If it were not for hopes, the heart would break.  
\--Thomas Fuller, _Gnomologia_ , 1732

* * * * *  
 **Past** :

Hidden in the forest of Burgess was a cave. It wasn’t small, nor was it very large. The entrance was kept hidden by brambles and large rocks, unknown to anyone but the spirit that had taken up residence within.

Jack liked his cave, or ‘den,’ as he’d taken to calling it. It was one room and had a surprisingly high ceiling, where the entrance was. He’d actually discovered it by tripping and falling into the cave. After the initial shock had worn off, he’d taken a shine to it.

He’d cleaned out the remnants of the previous inhabitants (foxes, it looked like), and begun the process of making it his own. It wasn’t a house, but he could make it as much of a home as he could. (Because he was _sick_ of not having one, _sick_ of having nothing but the lake to come back to. He was a wanderer, always would be, but the simple knowledge that he would have a place to come back to for his infrequent rests, or when he simply wanted to hide himself away, was a wonderful reprieve.)

He’d carved shelves into the stone walls for his possessions (few, but growing in number), gotten on hands and knees and scrubbed the floors until the rock gleamed as much as the simple stones could, and widened the entrance so that three Jacks would have been able to fit through at once. He loved how it doubled to serve as a skylight. 

He built furniture for his home. (And it hadn’t taken too long to master the skill, his hands seeming to already know what to do even as he learned.) A table and chairs, a chest, a loom, a small bookshelf, and a knob he then embedded in a niche in the rock to hang his staff on. In the center, under the entrance-skylight, was his bed. It was actually more a nest of ratty blankets and pillows, some of which he’d made himself; he’d made a set of knitting needles fifty years in and the loom wasn’t there for decoration. The creations might have been a bit odd, made from yarn scraps as they were, but they were well made and durable and Jack was proud of his skill.

Now, ninety-five years after his awakening, and ninety-one since he discovered his den, Jack surveyed his home. He would sometimes spend months away from it as he pursued new interests, but in the end he always came back. Today, he admired the newest additions.

Jack had been trying to gain the attention of Nicholas St. North for decades. Once he’d discovered the existence of the Guardian of Wonder, Jack had latched on fervently. Surely, _surely_ Jack must show up on the Naughty or Nice lists. North must have noticed him—Jack had heard his name being whispered by his fellow spirits, touted as a myth. If they knew of him, even as a myth, then North would definitely know as well, and would have to make the connection between the myth and Jack’s name on the list. He’d have to realize that Jack was real. He just _had_ to.

But North never came on Christmas Eve, no matter how bad or good Jack was. So this year Jack had pulled out all the stops. This year, Jack had been an _angel_. No pranks, no mischief, no huge snow storms. He’d even decorated his den for the occasion.

The cave had been comfortable with the amount of furniture, but felt a bit cramped with the small evergreen tree Jack had acquired. It had fifteen or twenty hand carved ornaments hanging from its limbs. Jack had spent of lot of his time this year making them. They were a sufficient distraction to help keep him out of mischief.

But his favorite, his masterpiece, was the angel.

She was about a foot tall, hollow in the middle and open bottomed so she could be stuck on the top. She wore a flowing dress, the folds painstakingly carved. Her wings, each feather detailed to finite accuracy, curved elegantly around her shoulders and hands, which cupped a tiny snowflake. But it was the face he liked the most. Because it was _her_ face, the little girl that had smiled and said his name so long ago. He’d spent days smoothing and carving, hardly daring to make a cut unless it was _perfect_ ; from her smiling lips to her laughing eyes.

And there it was, sitting atop the tree and looking every bit like it belonged not just on the tree, but here, in his home.

Jack checked the cookies on the table (and hadn’t they been a pain to make; the kitchen he’d borrowed the use of had taken forever to clean and he still sported a few burns on his fingers) and the glass of milk he’d had to collect himself. Jack decided he really didn’t like cows, especially when they kicked you. The stocking he’d knit himself was plain, all greys and off-whites with a band of out-of-place green, but it would do. The only thing left was the letter.

Jack didn’t take notice of his shaky breaths as he folded the paper reverently, slipping it under one of the cookies as a paper weight. The letter had been a last minute addition, deciding that if he was going to do this right, then he was going to do this _right_. Even if it meant voicing on paper his hopes and wants to a stranger.

That done, Jack blew out all but one of the numerous candles in his home, the one on the table, and crawled into his nest-like bed. Staring up through the skylight that was the closest thing to a chimney he had and that he liked to keep open anyway just to watch the sky, Jack stared at the Moon. Basking in the moonlight, Jack closed his eyes and let himself hope.

Forcing a sleep he didn’t necessarily need, Jack felt wonder curl in his stomach, excited despite himself for Christmas morning.

* * * * *

He shouldn’t have been so disappointed when nothing had changed the next morning, but he was.

Jack wrapped his hands around his knees, pressing his mouth into his arms and peering at the empty space beneath the tree. His gaze swiveled to the uneaten cookies, the empty stocking, the unread letter, and back to the tree. He did this several times, and sighed long and deep.

“You knew it was a long shot, Jack,” he said to himself. He sighed again, and his eyes settled firmly on the letter. Bitter resolve pursed his lips, and Jack stood. He straightened his rumpled clothing and ran a hand through his bed-head. He swiped the letter up, took his staff, and called on wind to fly him north. 

If North wasn’t coming to him, then Jack would come to North.

* * * * *

It took a while for Jack to breach the wards. Four weeks, in fact. It wasn’t like they hurt him or anything, they just kept unfamiliar magical signatures out. As long as the spirit was non-hostile, that is. Otherwise they fried you to a crisp rather than merely repelling.

It hadn’t been hard to resonate his magical core with the ward’s own magic once he’d figured it out, but it never would have worked if his magic and the wards’ magic hadn’t also been similar—both wintery, Jack’s more so, and hinted with something bright.

After that, the workshop had been ridiculously easy to get into. Open a window, skip down a few hallways, and Bob’s your uncle—he’d reached the open doorway to the main floor. But he couldn’t bring himself to go in.

He hovered in the doorway and watched. There were large, furry creatures, yeti if he recalled correctly, walking all around carrying toys and paints and tools. Strange contraptions flit through the air, colors and shapes and bright things on all sides. The entire place seemed to be full of such bustling fun, such _wonder_ and _life_ , and compared Jack…well, he was easily overwhelmed for a moment. He fought to take a step forward, but pulled back before he even set his foot down. So Jack stood there, just watching, until a figure hovered at his side.

A dark grey yeti was staring at him.

Jack jolted, breath stuttering as he turned towards the yeti. “You—can you see me?” The yeti didn’t answer, but his eyes narrowed, focusing intently. “I’m Jack.” Jack’s heart (normally sluggish in its beats) picked up a wonderful rhythm in his chest. “Who are you? I mean, you’re obviously one of North’s—”

The yeti’s hand swiped right through his neck.

Jack’s words became a choking cough as the muscles in his throat clamped shut. Usually it was his lungs or heart that gave him trouble when he was passed through, overshadowing any other effects, but this—this localized, pinpointed sensation hurt almost as much.

But that could just be because it was his _neck_.

Phil stared at his cooled hand, twitching the fingers thoughtfully. Phil wasn’t anything special among his fellow yetis. He wasn’t part of security, or a supervisor, or one of the cooks. Phil was just the average yeti, if not a bit too straightforward and simplistic in his toy ideas. It was because of this that Phil was usually regulated to assembly and lifting rather than design. His tastes tended to favor functionality of frivolity, leaving his original pieces too plain to catch the attention of other yetis or North. But that was okay. Phil was perfectly content with his lot.

It was Phil’s simple, logical way of thinking that made him notice the cold spot the others seemed to unconsciously avoid in the doorway to the main floor of the workshop. The odd chill in his hand now only confirmed it.

Something was there, and it was cold. He couldn’t see it, didn’t know what it was, but he could sense it was there, and that was enough.

Whatever it was, it was an outsider, and it probably shouldn’t be in the workshop. He would just show it out, and get back to work. He gave gestures he hoped it would understand, then walked to the front door of North’s home. He opened the door, waited, and shut it when a cool gust of air passed by going _out_ rather than _in_ with a satisfied click.

Back to work.

Jack stared at the closed door, ice and snow not his making blowing around him as the wind cooed its best attempt at comfort in his ear. His hand hovered at his neck, and then dropped. He sighed softly, held up his staff, and flew away.

He would try again.

* * * * *

Jack periodically broke in every few months for the next three years. Each time the yeti (Phil, Jack had eventually learned) would show him out. Phil had been letting him stay longer each time, and Jack privately believed this was due to the fact no one but the yeti was even aware he was there (even if the other never actually saw him).

Jack’s letter was still in hand, along with three others. He hadn’t tried going all out for Christmas since the first attempt, but he did keep writing the letters. Even if he hadn’t delivered them yet, he clung to the hope that one day he would.

He was hovering in the doorway, psyching himself up for the dozenth time to just go in, when he spotted the bulky figure in red heading his way.

Nicholas St. North— _Santa!_ a giddy, childish part of Jack awed, _Santa was walking right towards him!_ —was more imposing than Jack had imagined, and definitely bigger. But the brightness of the big man’s eyes made him feel so wonderful, and excitement curled in his stomach and he knew he’d felt like this once before on Christmas Eve three years ago, and it was all _so fantastic_ that for a few moments Jack simply _forgot_ —

“Hi! Hi, North—Santa?—um, I-I’m not sure which you’d prefer. I’m Jack—Jack Frost, and I-I…” He clenched the letters, and thrust them forward. North was nearly upon him now. “These are for you! My Christmas letters. They’re not much, but I, ah, just thought that maybe, you might—”

Jack had to blink very quickly to get rid of the tears that formed when North walked through him. His lungs and heart clenched in agony, and he told himself that the pain is the cause for his tears, proving once more how bad he was at lying to himself.

Phil didn’t have to show him out this time, because Jack left on his own.

He didn’t come back.

Hundreds of years later Jack was still writing the letters, undelivered, dated and hidden away in a chest in the den. Because someday, he told himself. Someday someday someday, and he realized quietly that it was both his favorite and most hated word.

* * * * *

 **Present** :

Jack’s first thought when he saw the sleigh was that it was very red.

The second was, _where could he get one for himself?_

He giggled and whooped as it took the loops, launching into open air. He was perched on the back between Bunny and Sandy’s shoulders, staff against his right arm. He smirked at Bunny, subtly slicking the seat with ice. Petty? Yes. Childish? Oh, most definitely. But it helped ease the bitter thing dozing in his in his mind from Bunny’s earlier words, so that was good enough for Jack.

North opened a portal and they flew through. Jack sat up as frigid air was replaced by warm humidity. He squinted as they approached the palace, black moving figures weaving in the air in the distance. 

North’s, “What?” was overtaken by screeches and neighs as the figures came upon them. Horses. Black horses, chasing down and swallowing the tooth fairies, trapping the little things in their stomachs.

Jack was moving before he could think. He struck down one horse, then another and another, frantically searching. He tried to keep the freed ones safe, but he couldn’t hold them; their tiny bodies flying right through him. They were swallowed up again as quickly as they were freed, quicker even.

But as selfish as it was, he could not bring himself to worry for them as much as he’d like. For now his largest concern was Baby Tooth.

Jack ducked and weaved through pillars and halls, searching with growing panic. “Baby Tooth?” he called. “Baby Tooth! Where are you?”

He jumped out the nearest window, clinging to the frame as he scanned the outside. He heard her before he saw her, a hundred feet away at least and coming towards him around the curve of the building. A nightmare nipped at her heals. “Baby Tooth!”

She saw him, her squeak of relief echoing in his ears. He took off, flying as fast as he could to reach her. Jack’s hand reached as they came closer. If he could just grab her, get her away from the nightmare, he could tuck her into his hood and she’d be _safe_ —

He could hear her twittering, high pitched and panicked. He could see her eyes, wide and dilated. He could feel her desperation in her tiny arms, stretching what seemed to be just out of reach, just like his. And he knew that it came together in one, terrible message.

_Jack, I’m scared._

He cried out as she was snatched just past his fingertips. The nightmare never stopped and barreled into Jack, knocking him off course. Jack halted his sudden spinning, and darted after the nightmare. 

“No.” His voice was harsh.

The nightmare led him to the interior of the palace, and Jack saw Pitch and the Guardians trading insults. He paid them no mind.

“No.”

The nightmare disappeared in a shadow at the base of the pillar Pitch stood upon looking down at the Guardians, taking Baby Tooth with it. The Guardians startled at its sudden appearance and disappearance, and Pitch laughed. “Oh! It seems I nearly missed one.” Pitch’s voice was slick and smooth, like oil on pavement during a sunny day. All shiny and gleaming, and just waiting to be set on fire.

“ _No!_ ”

Jack landed violently, scrambling to the shadow. He clawed at it, scraping and punching until his fingers were bruised and his knuckles bled. “Give her back!” He vaulted to his feet, whirling on the Guardians who were listening to Pitch monologue. He got in North’s face, lips twisted in an ugly snarl. “Tell him to give her back!”

But North couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t see him. Couldn’t help him.

“—but fear and darkness and—”

Pitch’s voice redirected the white haze of his anger, and he lunged upwards, landing and swiping at Pitch with his staff. It passed through, Pitch none the wiser.

“Give her back,” he said, and his voice was cracking like the ice of glaciers. “You _have to give her back._ ”

But nothing happened. No one reacted. No one listened.

Jack released a howl that carried with it a cold rage, slamming the butt of his staff to the ground and shooting small spikes of ice up around Pitch’s feet.

The Bogeyman stopped in his diatribe, staring at the ice in shock and curiosity just as Bunnymund threw his boomerangs. The Guardians and Jack chased Pitch until he disappeared by a spring and wall mural. Jack stared at the spot, staff clenched in a bloody grip.

“He’s gone,” he heard North say.

Jack breathed. For a few moments it was all he could do as the rage faded away, replaced by a heavy stone of guilt and sorrow in his gut. He crouched, face pressed against his knees.

_Baby Tooth…_

“No! No! No such thing as too late!”

Jack drew his face up enough to look at North with dull eyes. He spotted Toothiana, and a small flare of concern ignited in his chest. She didn’t look too good. Baby Tooth had always spoken fondly of her ‘mother,’ who was always willing to listen even if she took Baby Tooth’s stories about Jack as being the little fairy’s over-active imagination. She was good to Baby Tooth. She was good in general. She didn’t deserve to fade into a scrap of herself.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! _Idea!_ Hah!” North thrust his sword in Bunny’s face, who reared back and looked at North like he’d gone insane. “ _We_ will collect the teeth!”

Tooth startled. “What?”

“We get teeth! Children keep believing in you!”

Tooth gesticulated madly. “We’re talking seven continents! Millions of kids!”

North waved her concerns away. “Give me break. Do you know how many toys I deliver in one night?”

Bunny stepped forward, new confidence in his smile. “And eggs I hide in one day?”

Tooth looked to Sandy, who gave an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Jack watched with growing determination in his eyes. Before, Jack would have walked away and let the Guardians solve their own problems. He narrowed his eyes, and Baby Tooth’s terrified face flashed across his mind.

But now…

Jack stood, approaching the Guardians at a slow, casual pace that undermined the storm barely kept in check in his chest.

_Pitch had made it personal._

He didn’t know why the Moon had chosen him to help. He didn’t care. But right now they were his best chance at saving Baby Tooth. If that meant joining them for now, he’d do it.

He spread his arms akimbo when he reached them, a wide smile on his lips that turned his teeth into a sharp threat, and said to no one, “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JACK WRITES LETTERS TO SANTA.
> 
> Whew. Now that that's off my chest...anyone see that coming, even a little bit? I guess the tags could have hinted at it. I really enjoyed writing _PissedOff!_ Jack. I'm probably a sadist, because I also enjoyed writing the Christmas scenes at the beginning too. The image of Jack going all out and then waking up to find _Santa didn't come_ stuck in my head and I couldn't get it out.
> 
> Anyone have any feels they need to get out? Knives that need to be thrown at an unsuspecting author? Drop a comment. Tell me where you think it's going, or your reaction. If you had a favorite line, tell me that too. Those are some of my favorite things to read in reviews. Wild mass guesses are always fun, too.


	4. I will lose you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Enjoy to your heart's content, yadda yadda yadda. Apparently I have some reviewers that find me brilliantly callous. I LOVE IT. Get ready, things ahead!  
> I'm just gonna sit back and wait for you all to see what's coming OKAY THANKS BYE.

* * * * *

Hope is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul  
And sings the tune without the words  
And never stops—at all.  
\--Emily Dickinson, poem no. 254, 1861

* * * * *  
 **Past** :

The little fairy had always been different from her sisters. She was more prone to curiosity, and as a result was quicker to be scolded. Her sisters were more susceptible to the cold than she was which was understandable considering their home was located in India. But her favorite places to collect teeth were in northern areas, where she could watch moonlight glitter on the snow, and the play of frost on windows.

It occurred to her that this was probably the reason she loved the myth of Jack Frost. It was all just so beautiful and intricate; the idea that it was done deliberately with the same level of care and devotion she put into her work was enthralling. Over time her fascination grew, and with it came a certainty. Surely it _was_ deliberate? Surely somewhere there was a boy with winter in his eyes and frost on his fingers? Her sisters chittered at her for her daydreams when they were on a rare break, but she brushed them aside, mind made up.

And so it was that she quietly, willingly, chose to believe in Jack Frost.

It was a cold night in Russia, and while she didn’t mind chill temperatures, it was too cold even for her tastes. She shivered, approaching the house she’d been assigned, but paused when she spotted the boy on the roof. 

He was crouched on the peak, a hooded brown cloak hanging on his shoulders. His fingers spread on the rooftop for balance, in one hand a staff with a hook at the end, almost like a shepherd’s crook. He was lit by dream sand, the golden light shining on skin pale as frost, and hair white as snow. He was turned away and she was unable to see his face, but his head was turned up like he was watching the dream sand. 

The little fairy flew closer, curious. She was a few feet away when she let out a hesitant, questioning chirp.

The boy perked, and turned around. His eyes—bright eyes, eyes like winter—alit on her, and thin, pale lips parted in a happy chuckle. “Wow,” he said, and he really did have such a nice voice. He was looking at her like she was something extraordinary. “I’ve never seen one of you up close before.” He leaned closer.

She glanced down bashfully, then raised her eyes to meet his and chirped her question once more.

The boy’s smile dropped, his eyes spreading wide. His voice trembled when he spoke. “You…wait, can you see me?” 

She nodded.

He made a giddy, bubbly sound that looked like a laugh but felt like a sob. He held out his hand as if to touch her, and it shook. She cooed in concern. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers, drawing back slightly with his chin tilted downward. He peeked up at her through black eyelashes. She was stunned to realize he was _afraid_. Afraid of a tiny thing like her!

Upset, she chittered rapid reassurance, and darted forward to curl her arms around his thumb.

He started, but was careful not to shake her off. Then, hands trembling, he sat cross-legged with his staff across his knees and cupped her. He stared at her for a long time, and she didn’t want to disturb the silence. She was worried if she did, the tentative joy in his eyes would vanish as quickly as it’d come. Instead, she released his thumb and settled into his palms so he could hold her better.

Eventually he curled his thumb in and stroked the top of her head, his touch cold but very, very gentle. He exhaled heavily, the joy settling in his eyes. “You’re real.” He laughed shakily. “You’re really _real_.” Then he smiled and she blushed, because oh, he had such lovely teeth. “I’m Jack Frost. Who are you?”

Her mouth dropped open, and she fairly vibrated excitement. Jack Frost? She began chirping quickly and loudly, her words blurring together in a mass of _I can’t believe it’s you_ and _I knew you were real!_

She had a feeling he understood her, because the smile slipped away in favor of shocked awe. “Thank you,” he rushed out, cutting through her rambling. “Thank you.”

She calmed down, and pat his palm. He looked near to tears.

“Who are you?” Jack was the one bouncing now. “What’s your name?”

She pursed her lips, then slowly chirped as best as she could that she didn’t have one. None of the fairies did. Collectively they were fairies, and amongst each other they were called sister. They could tell each other apart just fine, so they’d never had a need for names.

Jack frowned a bit, biting his lip and furrowing his brow as he seemed to catch the gist of what she was trying to say. His words came out slowly when he spoke. “Isn’t that a little…sad?”

She shrugged, her best way of saying, “Not really.” She’d never thought of it that way. She supposed a name would be nice, but she was alright not having one.

“Well, I’ve never seen a fairy like you,” he glanced at the mark under her eye, “and until now, no one’s ever seen me before.” There was a heavy weight to those words, and she was beginning to understand why he’d been so afraid of her. “So…can _I_ name you?”

It was an odd request. She really _hadn’t_ thought about having—or not having—a name until now. But looking at his expression, she could tell that somehow it was important to him. And she couldn’t bring herself to take that away.

She twittered, and nodded a yes.

He smiled closed lipped, and then began to look contemplative. “Well, you’re all mini Toothiana’s, right?” She nodded again. “Then how about…Baby Tooth?” Frost crept across his cheeks, and he lowered his eyes bashfully. “Sorry. That’s not very creative, is it?”

She cooed at his upset. She flew from his palms to put a hand to his cheek. _No_ , she tried to reassure, _she loved it_. And she did. There was a small piece of her that had already warmed heavily to the new name.

Jack raised his eyes. Then he smiled. It was wider than any she’d seen on him before, fighting his cheeks for room on his face. It was big and bright and wonderful, and he looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

It made her want to cry.

The golden sand flickered around them, and she realized it had started retreating as dawn approached. She had to go. She still had work to do. She turned back to him, and she knew he understood.

“Okay. Do what you have to.” His smile never moved, but his eyes dimmed. “Goodbye.”

She began to fly away, reluctant to leave, when his voice stopped her.

“Baby Tooth?” His voice was soft as freshly fallen snow. “Will I ever see you again?”

She nodded fiercely. Of course. She would make sure of it.

Acting on impulse, she darted forward, kissed his cheek, and flew away. She slipped into the house and collected the tooth (a lateral incisor). When she was out and a building away, she couldn’t resist looking back.

He still stood on the rooftop. He was staring at the moon, staff clutched to his chest. He was crying.

She almost flew back to him, until she noticed his smile. It wasn’t nearly as wide as the last. But it was her favorite and more beautiful, because it sparked his eyes with the smallest flame of hope. 

She squeezed the tooth closer, looked away from what was clearly a private moment, and headed to the Tooth Palace.

* * * * *

It was hard to make time for Jack. Teeth were constantly being lost, and she very rarely had spare time to even rest, let alone track him down. But somehow she managed it. It was only once every five years or so, four if she was lucky, but the look on his face always made it so very worth it. 

She’d tried to tell her mother when she realized the full extent of Jack’s situation. But Toothiana had just smiled and praised her for her imagination. It was frustrating that no one believed her, and she wondered if this was how Jack felt all the time.

Her sisters twittered good naturedly at her, but she had resolved just to giggle with them. They didn’t see him. She did. She had a _name_ now.

He was Jack Frost. She was his Baby Tooth. It was amazing how much that had come to mean to her.

* * * * *

 **Present** :

Toothiana was happy. _Joyous_ , really. It had been so long since she’d been in the field. She was remembering why she loved it so much. 

It was odd though, how she’d sense a tooth in one place, and then it would reappear in Sandy’s bag. He must have been using his dream sand.

In fact, Sandy wasn’t using his dream sand, and he’d noticed as well. He weighed the bag in his hands unnecessarily, because he _knew_ it was heavier than it should be. He huffed, curious and thoughtful. He’d been feeling odd recently. Like there was something just on the edge of his awareness. It niggled at the back of his mind, bringing forth memories of another night eighty-some years ago. He’d felt something like this then as well.

Sandy shrugged the thoughts away, and got back to work. Toothiana was what mattered right now. Still the thoughts tickled, and slowly began to turn towards the crystal in North’s Globe Room.

* * * * *

It had been a very long time since Jack had had this much fun. He’d raced Bunny across cities, and he optimistically believed Bunny may have subconsciously acknowledged his challenge. They’d dived through windows, swooped across rooftops! Jack _really_ wished Bunny could see him. He just knew they could get along. 

Jack slipped all of the teeth he collected into Sandy’s bag. With the way North and Bunny carried on, they deserved for someone else to have a come-from-behind victory.

When he spotted Toothiana flying into the bedroom of Jamie Bennett he was quick to follow. As she collected the tooth Jack looked at the pictures on the wall. He chuckled, running his fingers over the waxy crayon and smooth paper. Jamie really was a good kid.

“Kids, huh?” He murmured to himself. He’d give anything to protect this. Before the weight and meaning of that sentence had time to settle in his mind, the other Guardians had arrived and begun causing a ruckus. 

Jack rolled his eyes when Jamie stirred in bed. “Way to go guys. So much for subtlety.”

There was a jolt of envy and a slow, digging spike of grief when Jamie woke up and saw the Guardians. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and glanced out the window. 

A nightmare stared back.

Jack jerked around entirely, his staff knocking the alarm clock on Jamie’s nightstand. Chaos broke out around him, and he was walked through more than once in the jumbled mess of so many bodies in such a small space. When it died down, Jack clutched the wall for support. He bent over, trying to breathe. He coughed, and watched the nightmare, silent until now, whinny loudly. A rush of anger narrowed his eyes.

Jack leaped out of the window, noticing off hand that Sandy was the only one that followed him. He chased the nightmare to a rooftop in downtown Burgess before he was able to blast it with his ice.

Jack hovered around it, poking the smeared frozen shadow with his staff. “Look at this thing,” he mused.

“Frost?”

Jack jolted, spinning around. Pitch stood behind him, staring at the remnants of his nightmare with the same expression of confusion from the Tooth Palace.

Pitch prepared to step closer, but was halted by Sandy’s appearance. Jack’s amusement barely managed to cut through his freezing anger when Sandy tossed Pitch into the street.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he said, but there was no real amusement in his tone. From the moment Pitch had appeared the storm he held back had begun stirring in his chest. 

_He wanted Baby Tooth back._

They were surrounded by Pitch’s nightmares soon after, and Jack did his best to help Sandy. Bells jingled as North’s sled passed overhead with the Guardians, who shook away their sleepiness. 

Jack and Sandy took off into the air, nightmares in pursuit. Two nightmares flanked him on either side, and he dropped to avoid them. They crashed into each other in a blast of sand. Another nightmare clipped his side, and Jack dropped his staff. For a terrifying moment he was in freefall, then he managed to catch ahold of it once more. He landed roughly on the sleigh, collapsing as a boomerang passed just over his head and into Bunny’s waiting hand.

Jack was impressed despite himself at the other’s skill. He took a moment to look around and take stock of the conditions of the rest of the Guardians.Toothiana was doing well, more than proficient with her swords (and where had _those_ come from?). North’s sabers served him just as well. 

And then he saw Sandy, surrounded by a mass of nightmares.

* * * * *

Sandy knew he shouldn’t have let himself get so separated from the others, but he was so _distracted_. His earlier thoughts had come back with a vengeance. Then there was the ice and flashes of blue he’d seen during the battle, and the frozen smear of nightmare on the rooftop. What was doing this? What was hovering around them, on the edges of awareness? What was attacking the nightmares with them? What—

… _who?_

The crystal flashed across his mind. The empty mist above it, that hadn’t contained anyone.

_Or perhaps just someone they couldn’t see?_

Someone they couldn’t see. The feeling of something—someone?—hanging in his periphery. The ice and frozen nightmare.

_“Maybe it’s Jack Frost?” Tooth quipped._

Jack Frost.

_Jack Frost._

Pain exploded in his back. Fear clawed at the base of his spine. Sandy hunched in on himself.

“No!”

Sandy didn’t recognize that voice. He lifted his head.

White hair. Impossibly pale skin—like snow. A frosted hoodie. Big, blue, _worried_ eyes.

Jack frost was flying towards him. His lips parted in a soft ‘oh’ of realization, coupled with a dawning horror that _Jack had always been there and they’d never seen him._ Jack was closer now, and the panic drowning on his face did nothing but deepen Sandy’s guilt.

The fear was spreading. He could feel it creeping on his senses, trying to ooze into his core. If he wanted to have a chance of surviving, he had to lock his core away now.

So Sandy swallowed back the guilt, and did the only thing he could do—something he wished he had been able to do sooner.

He looked Jack Frost in the eye.

* * * * *

“No!”

Jack’s anger was burning into terror. No matter how fast he flew, he couldn’t seem to get close enough. And then Sandy looked him in the eye. For a moment he was confused, but then he understood. Sandy _was looking at him_ ; Sandy _could see him._

Jack’s mouth dropped open, elation rippling across his senses. Sandy could see him. Sandy would be able to explain. Sandy could make it so Jack wasn’t _alone anymore_ —

Sandy smiled, pleasant and so very kind, and bobbed his head in greeting.

Then the nightmare sand swallowed him.

“No,” Jack whispered, his heart dropping to his feet. “ _No!_ ”

Sandy was nice. Sandy was understanding and did good things. Sandy had believed in him. He’d finally gotten someone else to believe in him and now he was gone _and it wasn’t fair!_

Grief fought and wrestled with terror for possession of his heart, and a bit of the storm in his chest fragmented off from the whole. Nightmare sand bore down on him, heading for the sleigh.

Jack gripped his staff and thrust the fragmented piece of storm _out_ , and it shot through the wood to splinter into the sand with bright shining blue-white light. A cry scratched up his throat, and it reflected the battle in himself. The sand exploded.

When the storm settled, anger and fear held at bay by heavy grief, he fell. It was chance that he ended up in the sleigh.

As the remaining Guardians exclaimed about the show of strength he’d made Jack closed his eyes; too tired to listen, too stricken to care. He felt the black of unconsciousness slip tempting fingers across his mind, and Jack let himself drift off.

* * * * *

Pitch laughed as the sleigh disappeared through one of North’s portals. He wiped snow from his robes, and paused. He brought up a handful, crumbling the snow in his fingers. He seemed to think deeply for a moment. Golden eyes slid from his hand to the Moon, glowing with suspicion.

“Hm,” he hummed. “Perhaps it’s time we had a little fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO CALLED IT?  
> Come on, I know you were all guessing. Yes, it was Sandy. It was always going to be Sandy (though he did put up a good fight with Tooth for it in my mind). And you all get to see how Baby Tooth and Jack met. :D  
> So, any comments? Parts that stuck out, lines you liked, the usual stuff I enjoy knowing or hearing about.  
> I'm just gonna look over my notes for chapter six so I can start working on it. Should be enjoyable. :D  
> Aside: I JUST SAW MAN OF STEEL AND OH MAH GOD I WANNA BOUNCE QUARTERS. OFF. HIS. ABS.


	5. I've hung a wish on every star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the length of this chapter. It's more transitory than anything, but the next promises to be bulkier. Things happen in the next chapter. AND OH HEY THERE CHAPTER SEVEN LOOK WHAT HAPPENS IN YOU YOU'RE GOING TO BE FUN TO WRITE.  
> PS--Shout out to ariquelle for catching on to the chapter titles.

* * * * *

I was much further out than you thought  
And not waving but drowning.  
\--Stevie Smith, _Not Waving but Drowning_ , 1957

* * * * *

**Past:**

Jack had been working up the courage to touch the sand for weeks now.

The sand was such a beautiful thing for the children. Especially these days, when everything was so hard and kids were being forced to act less and less like children each day. It was a fantastic escape for them in such troubling, hunger filled times; to dream.

His lips parted in awe, golden light gleaming off his eyes. He crept carefully closer, until the sand was hovering just in front of his eyes. He smiled brightly, chest light with wonder and joy. 

He followed the line of sand back to its source with his gaze. The cloud of sand was a beacon in the night. From here he could only catch glimpses of the little man on top. Jack spared a thought to gliding up there to watch, but decided against it. 

He wouldn’t see him anyway.

Directing his gaze back to the line of sand in front of him, Jack bit the inside of his lip and took a deep breath. He reached out with slim, hesitant fingers, and brushed his hand through.

A golden dolphin burst forth, trilling and squeaking gleefully. Jack laughed, spinning to keep his eyes on the creature as it circled him. He bounced on his heels, whooping with excitement when the dolphin began doing flips and tricks in the air. He held his arms out imploringly, and the dolphin willingly came into his reach. It nuzzled his neck and cheek. As Jack held onto the sand dolphin his grin trembled. Was this what a hug felt like?

Releasing a shaky sigh, Jack let go and steadied his smile. Glorying in the joy he felt in his heart and that tingled in his toes and his fingers, he bounced away on the roof. 

“Let’s play!” He tapped the dolphin with his staff. “Tag, you’re it!”

The dolphin whistled, and the game began.

* * * * *

Sandy’s attention perked. One of the sand streams had been disrupted. It had only been the barest flicker, but he’d definitely felt a dream remove itself from the sand. He couldn’t feel it much anymore, he never could once they’d been delivered, not like he did with the sand immediately in his control. But the streams were connected directly to him on his cloud, so their changes were noticed quickly. Curious, he created a smaller cloud and flew from his spot in the sky to the stream.

Ah, there. A dream dolphin was flying around a rooftop, flipping and twirling and…dodging? Was it playing?

Sandy halted in front of the dolphin, which had paused at his approach. There was a flicker from the corner of his eyes, and he turned towards it. There was nothing there. He could’ve _sworn_ …

* * * * *

Jack gripped his staff across his chest. The Sandman was watching Jack’s dolphin oddly, a question in his calm eyes.

He shifted on his awkwardly. Well, this was a little uncomfortable.

The Sandman turned toward him when he moved.

Jack froze. He can’t see me, he told himself. He can’t see me, can’t see me, can’t see me.

But Baby Tooth does, a traitorous part of himself that refused to let him stop trying murmured.

Baby Tooth. The idea took root and spread. He’d only seen her a handful of times in the past thirty years or so, but maybe, just _maybe_ something had changed because of it. Maybe there was a _chance_ —

So Jack opened his mouth and repeated the words that sometimes felt like they were the only thing he knew how to say.

“Can you see me?”

The Sandman cocked his head, and Jack’s throat clenched. There was hope; sweet, bright, gentle—

The Sandman’s shoulders heaved in a silent sigh, and he dispersed the dolphin before flying back up to his cloud. 

—selfish, damning, broken hope. 

Jack watched him leave with blank eyes. He flicked his gaze to the sand for a second, then pulled up his hood on his cloak and turned away. He called wind to carry him home to his den. Where he was usually light, he felt heavy in its grip tonight.

When he landed it was firm. He walked to the bed of blankets and pillows, and pushed it from under the skylight entrance. He stopped when it was in shadows, and collapsed atop it. He didn’t want to look up at the Moon tonight.

Jack grasped amongst the covers until his searching fingers hit smooth wood. He pulled the angel to him, then sought once more. This time he found faux fur. He gripped the stuffed tiger. (A cast off from a spoiled child, who’d tossed it aside in favor of something else, something _better_ the moment it’d been torn. Jack had taken and fixed it out of pity, but kept it out of empathy.)

He stared at the wall, cuddled with his staff and toys and blankets. Like a child.

For a few days, it was all he did.

* * * * *

**Present:**

When Jack woke he was in the sleigh. He groaned as he fought to stand, muscles stiff and aching, bones popping. Everything _hurt_. He clenched his eyes shut against the pounding headache that throbbed at the base of his skull and temples. He gripped the side of the sleigh. He took deep breaths that smelled of animal and feel. As the headache faded into something manageable, he looked around.

He was in a barn of some sort. To his left were stables with dozing reindeer. His lips twitched and he wanted to pet them, but refrained. He had other things to worry about.

_Sandy._

Tears gathered in his eyes and he shook them away. _No._ Now was not the time.

Jack climbed out of the sleigh, stumbling and using his staff to maintain his balance. He felt better by the time he got to the door, his wobbles smoothing out until he felt secure with his own two legs. Jack exited to find himself in the same place they’d taken off from to get to the Tooth Palace. He wandered around until he heard noises, bells, and followed it.

What he found was a funeral.

Jack stared at the candles and mourning with a darkening expression. “He’s not dead.” He walked into the circle they all formed, and glared at the Guardians. “Why are you acting like this? _He’s not dead_.” Jack’s breathing became harsh. “He can’t be. He _saw_ me. He can’t be gone.”

This time Jack couldn’t hold back the angry tears as he watched them hold hands. But it was the tears in Bunny’s eyes that made him snap. He shouted, “How can I have any hope that you’ll ever believe in me if you won’t even believe in him?!”

Jack flew away, stewing in his grief and his anger, and hating that even in a time like this he could feel so selfish.

* * * * *

The main floor of the workshop was empty for once. If they weren’t at the ceremony, the yeti were in their homes around the workshop with their families. Phil had no family to go home to, but he wasn’t high up enough in command that he felt comfortable attending the ceremony either. He hadn’t known the Sandman well, but he’d known him nonetheless. Which was why he was here. He didn’t want to go to his empty home and grieve alone, but he didn’t want to step in on something he felt he didn’t belong at. So he stayed here, caught between the two.

The knife was sharp. He was careful with it as he carved. A block of dark brown wood was steady in his large hands, moved with professionalism and ease of experience as he whittled away it. He wasn’t too sure what he was making yet, but he guessed it was some kind of animal. He let his hands move without thought.

Phil paused in his work when he sensed something cold settle at his side on the workbench. He glanced over. Nothing there, as usual. He turned back to his carving, and suddenly knew exactly what he was making. Setting out with new purpose, he continued to work. For two hours there was quiet. 

When he finished, Phil sanded the edges to smoothness. Then he placed the horse, the size of a human’s palm, on the table in front of the cold presence. A thank you for the company he hadn’t known he wanted. He left it there and went to his home to rest, no longer wary of being home alone. Whatever it was, it was probably grieving too, after all.  
He wished he had a name he could give it. 

* * * * *

Jack picked the tiny horse up, and cradled it in his hands.

He really did like Phil. He almost regretted the long reprieve he’d taken from coming to the pole. As he observed the creation Phil had carved in so short a time, he almost laughed. Phil was really talented. He had such an eye for details. He just had trouble with expressing it most of the time; he was so oddly logical and practical for a toy making yeti. Jack wondered if Phil might have some confidence issues too, deep down.

He sniffed, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He tucked the horse into his pocket, where it clanked against the pocket’s other contents. He took a shuddering breath, and stood up. He needed to find the Guardians. Something needed to be done.

* * * * *

The Guardians had reconvened in the Globe Room. Jack sat beside the main console, staff stuck between his crossed legs and leaning against his shoulder. The storm in his chest wasn’t raging anymore, slowed by grief and a growing cold calm, but still brewed. It had been quiet for a while, no one willing or wanting to speak. But eventually all silences are broken.

“Someone has been helping us,” North said. He never took his eyes off the globe and its flickering lights. Jack looked at him.

“What?” Tooth flew closer. “Helping us?”

North nodded. “The explosion in last battle was not caused by us. And nightmare horses should have been greater, but their numbers dropped quicker than expected.” He stood in front of the console, rapping his fingers on it. “Someone has been helping us,” he repeated.

Tooth pursed her lips in thought. “It was a bit like that at Tooth Palace too, wasn’t it?”

Another nod from North. “The fifth Guardian?”

Bunny hopped onto the railing around the globe. “Why wouldn’t they show themselves then? Why hide?”

Jack snorted. “Who’s hiding?”

North shrugged. “Who knows? But whoever it is, we can still count as good thing. We need them, especially now.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “You _need_ me?”

The thought made something small and bright unfurl in his smile.

“Well whoever they are,” Bunny said, “They’d better be ready. Cause Easter is tomorrow, and I’ve got a plan.” A smirk spread on his face. “How’s you lot feel about paintin’ some eggs?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHIL. PHIL YOU HAVE MY HEART. I can't wait until this part of the series (Yes. Series. As in there will be a sequel.) is done so I can flesh out his character more.  
> I enjoyed writing the funeral scene.   
> Same drill as usual: Favorite lines, scenes, character issues, theories. I FEED OFF OF THEM NOM NOM NOM.


	6. And my heart's about to break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! As promised, this one's a bit longer than the previous stuff. I just finished writing chapter seven too, and that's gonna be fun to update. In the meantime, this chapter here's a doozy for certain things I won't tell you about. Take your own guesses.  
> Oh jeez, this chapter should not have been as much fun to write as it was.  
> Enjoy!  
> Also, the chapter title is giving me some serious hindsight giggles when compared to comments thus far. AS IF YOUR HEARTS WEREN'T ALREADY BROKEN PFFFFFT. Seriously though, I seem to be causing trauma for some of you. Do you need medical help?

* * * * *

Know how sublime a thing it is  
To suffer and be strong.  
\--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, _The Light of the Stars_ in _Voices of the Night_ , 1839

* * * * *

**Past:**

Jack knew what he was doing.

Despite how true the statement was, that didn’t stop the trembling. Biting his lip, he firmed his grip on his staff and breathed deeply until it stopped.

He knew what he was doing.

He was tired of not being seen. He was tired of trying. He was tired of loneliness, of dreaming and wishing and _someday_. But most of all, Jack Frost was _tired_ of being _tired._

Hope _hurt._

Jack created snow. He made frost on the windows, and icicles that hung on gutters and pipes. It was his to craft; to place and to mold from himself. 

And so came the idea. With each smiley flake he made and each storm he siphoned off his magic for, it grew.

Could he become what he created?

In Jack’s mind the words reshaped themselves in to harsher forms he dared not acknowledge. (Could he disappear completely? Would he be eliminated in the process? Could he even die? And at the very center, quiet and sharp, was a single ‘what.’

What would it take to kill himself?)

Jack floated up from his lake’s center, until the only thing he saw was the Moon. He raised his staff, and hesitated. 

_What about Baby Tooth?_

Jack’s entire mind drew back.

Baby Tooth. His sweet, loving little friend. His best friend.

_Who he hadn’t seen in over a decade._

He’d made excuses. She was busy. She had to be busy.

Until five years became six and six became seven and seven became twelve.

That damned part of him that never stopped hoping, that thrived on someday, sobbed and begged that she was just so _busy_. Meanwhile the rest of him condemned Jack to what he’d been afraid of since he’d met her.

She’d forgotten him. 

Jack’s resolve strengthened. She’d forgotten him, and he was tired, and he knew what he was doing.

Jack closed his eyes and concentrated on calling up the storm he would use to spread himself. His magic came when he called it. A gentle ebb and flow along his arms to his fingertips, channeled into his staff. Focused as he was, he was hyperaware of each drop of magic that left him through the staff. From there it radiated outward, dissolving to saturate the air and call the snow and ice. The storm formed around him, until it was so thick he could no longer see the Moon. 

He cut off the magic to his staff. Step one complete. Now came the hard part. Jack began spreading his magic to his limbs. It was thick and slow, a strange syrupy feeling beneath his skin. He felt heavy. His magic weighed him down, and were it not for the wind he would have dropped like a stone. When every bit of him had been saturated with magic, he took a breath that felt like he was underwater. He opened his eyes for just a moment—was he _glowing?_ —and then pressed his magic outward, taking everything of him with it (his loneliness, his anger at the Man in the Moon, his raw _self-hatred_ —).

Jack screamed, and then exploded.

The storm raged. Snow fell in white avalanches. Wind howled and stole the air from the lungs of the few unlucky enough to have been caught in its grip. Ice crept thick onto windows. And in the midst of it all, Jack Frost was carried along in thousands of pieces.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see, taste, smell or hear. Only feel. And all he felt was the rage, sadness and loneliness. 

And the pain. So much pain. Was he screaming? He wanted to. He wanted to scream and scream and scream until the sound drowned the pain. But there was no sound. There was no screaming.

It took four hours for the storm to die; for each and every piece of him to fall in tiny snowflakes that spread a patch of thick branching ice wherever they landed. Only then did they melt back into pieces that were pure Jack and blue with his magic. They converged back to Burgess Lake from miles around, until they all came together and reformed Jack Frost.

He fell to the ice at speed, bouncing where he hit and sliding across to the side. He hit the embankment. His muscles convulsed, body spasming, a thousand needles pricking under his skin. He opened his mouth to gasp. What came out was a watery sob.

He was exhausted. He couldn’t move. And he hurt.

And with the hurt was a seeping realization that it hadn’t worked. He watched the clouds above dissipate. Dawn was approaching. He saw the night recede until light had feathered across the sky in pinks and blues.

He heart rustling. Feet crunched the snow. Someone was walking along the side of the lake, coming towards him.

“—and who ever heard of a blizzard on Easter?!”

Jack whimpered as he turned his head. The Easter Bunny was approaching. Jack’s lips parted in soft awe. He’d never met Bunnymund before (but he’d heard of him. Last of the Pooka, subject of many an overheard conversation between spirits, Guardian, and considered quite the catch. Oh yes, he’d heard of him.), but now he felt a twinge of regret as he saw the anger on Bunnymund’s face. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, and even his words sounded painful. “I didn’t know it was Easter. Really, I didn’t.”

“Probably one of those winter sprites,” Bunnymund growled. “They’ve never had problems messin’ about with others, and certain never minded hurting people.” Cruel humor shadowed Bunny’s face. “Good thing Jack Frost isn’t real. He’d probably only be good for making things worse.”

Jack wanted to deny that. But the part of him filled with loneliness, the part that had talked him into doing this said otherwise. Bunnymund’s voice became soft with grief. “If I find one more hurt child…”

Jack’s heart stopped for a moment. Hurt child? He’d—he’d _hurt_ —

He closed his eyes, and began saying over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry_.”

Bunnymund passed by and disappeared into the tree line.

Jack laid there for what must have been hours before he heard the familiar twittering. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes and said, “Baby Tooth?”

The fairy raced into his field of vision. Worry lit her eyes and as she looked over him her face crumbled into sadness. He must have looked worse than he thought. She began crying as she clung to his cheek, pounding tiny fists beneath his eyes.

She hadn’t forgotten him.

Relief warred with guilt. Words tumbled across his lips and he hated that they sounded like an accusation. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye, hers big and wet and sad. _No_ , her twitters said, _never_. She came down and nuzzled his cheek. _I’m sorry._

Tiny hands wiped his tears before they could frost his skin. As they lay in the snow he understood he could never do this again. Not just for him, or the children he’d hurt. But for Baby Tooth, who cared about him. Who loved him.

“I’m sorry Baby Tooth,” he whispered. She nuzzled closer on his cheek. His skin felt wet. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

She nodded, and neither of them spoke for the next few hours.

* * * * *

Jack later discovered that Baby Tooth had skipped her work to find him when she’d heard about the sudden storm in Burgess. She’d be getting in a lot of trouble, but it would be worth it. For him, she made clear, it would always be worth it.

Before she left she helped him find a replacement for his cloak, which had been torn to shreds by ice and wind in the storm. Looking through donation bins at a shelter, she picked out a blue hooded sweatshirt with a pocket on the front. He slipped it on, and was pleased when it fit, only a little bit too big.

The time between visits went back to normal. She was still busy, but she never let it get the better of her. And if it meant never seeing him like that again, still and quiet and pained, she’d skip if she had to.

For him.

For Jack.

For her best friend.

* * * * *

**Present:**

The Warren was like nothing Jack had ever seen. Flowers bloomed across the ground and climbed up the rocks. Eggs skittered about underfoot and the river sang with bubbling joy. This was a place where the very air smelled like colors and tasted like hope. 

But…

Jack explored. There hadn’t been much else for him to do. So when he’d found the empty caverns he hadn’t thought twice about taking a look.

They were homes. Barren homes for families that would never come. Because Bunny was the last.

He left them quickly.

It was a good thing he had his smiley flakes. Or else Bunny wouldn’t have stood a chance against Sophie Bennett. It amazed him that the little girl had managed to get into the Warren in the first place. North needed to keep better track of his snow globes. What if she’d transported herself someplace dangerous? Like the middle of a desert, or the ocean? 

He watched Bunny and Sophie play and laugh. At least he seemed to have the sensibility to keep her away from potential harm. The River of Coloring may not have been very deep, but there were still possibilities Jack didn’t want to think about.

He chuckled through his nose fondly. It was nice to see Bunny let loose a bit. He was always so stern and serious. Bunny’s rare happiness made his thoughts stray briefly to the caverns.

Bunny was so strong. How had he coped with being the last? How had he come to treasure the hope Jack himself was so quick to damn? But no, it wouldn’t do to measure his pain against someone else’s. 

He sat beside Bunny as the other cradled Sophie. “I really admire you,” Jack admitted.

Sophie snuggled into Bunny’s fur, tired after playing. Jack wondered suddenly what it felt like. She looked so comfortable, and Bunny’s fur seemed so soft…

Against his better judgment Jack reached out, and his fingers passed through Bunny’s arm. He drew back, a frosted blush on his cheeks as he realized what he’d tried to do. It was a silly idea anyway. Bunny’d made clear he had no positive feelings for Jack Frost, or at least the myth. He wouldn’t want Jack touching him.

But still…it had been a nice thought.

* * * * *

It was decided that Bunny would take Sophie home.

“I’ll just open a direct tunnel to her room and be back as soon as I can.” Bunny adjusted the girl in his grip. “I’ll be quick as a bunny.” He smirked.

Jack laughed and followed along. He flew alongside Bunny as they raced to Burgess, appearing in the middle of Sophie’s room from the tunnel. Jack watched him tuck her in gently, unaware himself of the softness his smile directed at them. He slipped a hand in his pocket and ran his fingers across the smooth wood of one of his most prized possessions. The carved angel.

Bunny jumped back into the tunnel. Jack made to follow, but paused when he noticed an open window. He walked over to shut it so Sophie wouldn’t get cold.

Outside, a quiet twitter sounded. 

He froze. Baby Tooth? Jack glanced at the closing hole in the floor. The twitter came again, desperate. Jack jumped out the window, and the tunnel closed behind him. He followed the twitters to the forest, where they were louder and more frantic. He came to a stop by the rickety frame of a bed. Beneath, a hole dropped down into darkness. He broke pieces of wood away to clear the entrance, and hesitated.

Another twitter. This one pained.

Jack dropped down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. That bit at the beginning? It happened. I was going for a bit of 'I Have No Voice, And I Must Scream' type stuff. The idea of Jack wanting to scream, _begging_ to scream...  
>  WHY WAS THIS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE.  
> Also, how Bunny and Jack 'met.' (At least on Jack's side.)  
> And first signs of mmm-he's-a-hot-bunny from Jack. I was going for subtlety. The more blatant 'BUNNY TAKE ME NOW' stuff is for sequel.  
> Which I need to finish planning out. And then there's those one-shots...  
> Ah well. I'll be busy, I guess.  
> Comment if you wish. You all know what I like. *insert winky smiley face here*  
> I have a playlist of songs I listen to when I write and post these chapters. It's actually called 'NOB' for Nature of Belief. Would any of you be interested in me posting that on my profile or something? Or maybe just a not for each specific chapter's most listened to song? If there's anyone else like me, you find that interesting, and mood music is a must for when I read fic. Just let me know!


	7. I'm out here in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASLDKFJALSDKFJAKJ YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE ONE OF MY FAVE AUTHORS COMMENTED LAST CHAPTER.  
> Anyway.  
> Down the rabbit hole time, guys. I'll talk more at the end of the chapter.  
> Songs listened to while writing this chapter: _The Bird and the Worm_ by The Used; _I Miss the Misery_ by Halestorm; and _Smooth Criminal_ , both the Alien Ant Farm cover and Michael Jackson original. Note that while the songs may not necessarily fit the theme or events of a chapter, they are what I was in the mood to listen to as I wrote/typed this chapter. There are more, but those were the ones I went back to most.

* * * * *

She dwelt among the untrodden ways  
Beside the springs of Dove,  
A maid whom there were none to praise  
And very few to love.  
\--William Wordsworth, _She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways_ , 1800

* * * * *  
 **Past:**

Jack loved to dance.

It was a chilly night in Italy, at least for others, but that didn’t come close to stopping those determined to step onto the dance floor. Jack’s head hung over the side of the roof, bright fairy-lights hanging all around to illuminate the patio whose open sliding doors he was peeking into. Jack used his arms as leverage to flip himself off the roof, landing with a solid crouch. 

Jack liked coming to this place. The upscale dance studio hosted a lot of parties, like the one going on tonight, and was privately owned by a woman named Allegra with a true passion for what she taught. 

He enjoyed watching her teach. He couldn’t understand what she said, but he copied her motions and gestures. He followed along, learning what he could. He was at least a somewhat good dancer by now, if he did say so himself. He’d even taken the time to practice on his own with his staff as his (not very responsive, but oh well) partner.

He hid his staff in a decorative bush by the doors, and straightened out his hoodie self-consciously. As he entered Jack scanned the room, looking for a suitable dance partner. The first to catch his eye was a man in the process of escorting a young lady to the dance floor. He stepped into position, breathing deeply to stave off the breathlessness that came when the young lady entered the same position with him. At least it didn’t _really_ hurt, he acknowledged. Not like it did with other spirits, which was probably why he’d never tried this with them.

The couple began their dance, and Jack kept pace. He stared up at his partner, a man in his early twenties with curly brown hair and dark eyes. Jack smiled when he spoke, voice rich with laughter and obvious affection. For a moment Jack let himself imagine what it would be like to have someone look at him like that.

His cheeks frosted the tiniest bit before Jack sighed wistfully and shook the thought away. He needed to stop doing this to himself. It would only end in upset.

Jack switched partners several times in the following two hours. Sometimes he shared positions with men, others with women. Eventually he spotted the person he’d come for, in a bright green dress. Pulling away from the lady he’d ‘danced’ with, Jack stepped into the place of the man he’d started the night with. He and the young man began leading their partner, an elderly woman with eyes as dark as the man’s. 

“Hello Allegra,” Jack said fondly.

She moved slowly. She had to, now. The arthritis had eaten away at her knees with a vengeance in recent years. She couldn’t dance like she used to, like he’d seen her do. But somehow, she still danced. He suspected she would until the day she died. 

“It’s good to see you again.” He smiled.

She said something that made the young man laugh. He then shivered, and Allegra seemed to tease him for it.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my fault. This is kind of the only way I can get someone to dance with me.” She laughed, and Jack pretended it was because of him. “I know; pathetic, right? I’m so bad no one can stand to even touch me!”

Allegra and the young man continued to chat, and Jack was quiet for a few moments. At the first lull, he piped in. “Your grandson here’s a good dancer, by the way. You’ve taught him well. Like your mom taught you, remember?” Jack huffed. “Not like me, though. I could barely manage to attend your lessons.” He sobered, good humor fading in the edges of his smile. “I did something bad to myself a few years ago. I’m sure you’d be mad if you knew. Baby Tooth was.” And sad. She’d been very sad.

“But I’m not going to do it again, promise.” Jack looked her over, merging laugh lines and gray hair with the bright young girl from so many decades ago. “I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”

Allegra stopped their dance, appearing winded, and her grandson stepped from position. Jack gasped as they separated, no longer sharing the same space. He led her away, and Jack watched them go.

“Happy birthday Allegra,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Jack walked onto the patio. He retrieved his staff from the bush and hopped onto the roof. He set the staff down once more, and held his arms in position. Quiet though it was, the music was still clear enough to dance to, even if he was dancing with no one.

(And if his imagination featured a partner that was obviously male and liked to wrap Jack into long embraces unsuited to this particular dance, well, that was his business, wasn’t it?)

* * * * *

The next time Jack visited Allegra, it was at her grave a year later. It was also the last time.

* * * * *

**Present:**

Jack felt like he’d just stepped into an M.C. Escher painting. 

“Jeez,” he said, walking on a slanted pathway, “did he take design tips from the Goblin King?”

Not that there was anything wrong with that, per se. The Goblin King just _really_ liked his upside down staircases (and singing, and dancing, and tight pants, and if Pitch started taking up those habits as well Jack was going to need some form of brain bleach). Jack preferred having things right side up, thank you very much.

Jack gripped his staff tight, scanning around himself carefully. He didn’t like it here one bit. The shadows felt alive. It made his skin crawl.

That was when he spotted the cages hanging from the ceiling in some kind of antechamber. He jumped up, clutching the side of one cage. It swung, making the little fairies inside squeal.

“I’m gonna get you out,” he assured reflexively, but his eyes scanned for one in particular.

Baby Tooth. _Where was Baby Tooth?_

There was an anxious twitter below him, and Jack turned his head towards it. An iron globe turned slowly on a raised dais. In front of it was a table. On it was a bird cage with thin, close together bars. Inside, a lone fairy clutched at those bars.

Relief flooded through him. “Baby Tooth!”

He dropped down onto the dais silently. Baby Tooth squeaked, reaching for him through the bars. He took a step towards her.

“So there _is_ someone here.” A shadow moved behind the globe, and Pitch stepped from it.

Jack froze several feet away as Pitch stood beside the cage, a hand coming to rest atop it. Pitch observed Baby Tooth in her cage. “I knew this one would be important.”

Jack raised his staff, defensive. Baby Tooth cried out, arms waving at Jack frantically to get away. Pitch followed the line of her gestures to the area Jack was in. 

“Yes.” Pitch came forward, vaguely circling Jack, eyes scanning the air and floor. “Definitely _someone._ But who?” Sharp golden eyes narrowed, as though trying to get a clear fix on a squirming butterfly to pin it down by its wings. “What poor sap has Lunanoff suckered into helping his Guardians when they can’t even see you?” Pitch paused in his circling suddenly, once more beside the cage. “Or perhaps…,” understanding flooded his face, “they don’t _believe_ in you?”

Jack flinched.

A terrible parody of a Chelsea grin cut sharp lines on Pitch’s cheeks. “That is it, isn’t it? They don’t believe in you. Nobody does.” He became introspective for a moment. “But this is old magic. Only Lunanoff could have done this, but why?”

“I don’t know.” Jack smiled condescendingly. “Why don’t you ask him for me?”

“But I’m aware of you now, and,” Pitch seemed to concentrate very hard. “Ah, there it is. I can _taste_ your fear.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as though savoring it. “It’s so _potent_.” His eyes opened. “That’s your greatest fear. That no one, save this sweet little fairy, will ever see you.” Pitch grabbed the top of the cage and shook it violently, sending Baby Tooth bouncing against the bars. “But who _are_ you?”

“Stop it!” Jack slammed his staff down, ice shooting in spikes from the floor at Pitch.

The Bogeyman dodged, staring at the ice with a low chuckle. “I think I know who you are.” He disappeared into the shadows.

Jack bolted after, angry and unsettled. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to freeze Pitch to a wall and _force_ him to let Baby Tooth—and _Sandy_ , still alive, not dead Sandy—go. 

He was led on a wild goose chase down hallways, over upside-down bridges, and through shadows. Jack’s staff glowed in the darkness, a beacon of bright white-blue. One moment there’d be scratching behind him, and he’d turn to fire at it. Then it would change, the sound appearing above him. Deprived of sight, Jack scrambled about blind, looking for a monster in the dark. In one all-too frightening and horrible moment, Jack had even believed the scratching was coming from _inside of him_.

Jack kept running, kept chasing. And then suddenly they were no longer in Pitch’s lair, but in tunnels. Grassy green tunnels, with bright bits of broken eggshell scattered about.

Jack gasped, head jerking as he took in the destruction. “No. You—what have you _done_?”

“Not what did _I_ do.” The voice was a menacing whisper in his ear, and he turned in time to see Pitch melting into the shadows. Gold eyes, cruel and amused, stared right at him. “What did _you_ do?” He disappeared entirely, voice echoing eerily around in the tunnel. “Happy Easter, _Jack_.”

* * * * *

Pitch reappeared on the dais, eyes landing briefly on the little fairy with the mark under its eye. It began squeaking at him, voice high and swift with its fury. Pitch snorted, and back-handed the cage off the table. The fairy cried out as the cage hit the floor, whimpering in pain but otherwise thankfully quiet.

Chuckling, Pitch observed the globe. Its lights began steadily blinking out one by one. A look of satisfaction slipped across his face, thin lips twisted with cruel happiness. Then his eyes landed on the North American continent, and the look shifted to curiosity and something altogether darker. 

“Jack Frost,” Pitch said, stroking a finger over the United States to rest on the small area where Burgess resided. “Or should I call him Jackson Overland?” He tapped his finger twice. “The boy who believed in the Bogeyman. What a fool you are Lunanoff.” He turned his eyes upward, as though he could see through the ceiling to the moon. “Did you think you could hide him from me forever?” The smile returned, just as twisted. “Oh, no old friend. Not forever. Not forever at all.” Pitch curved his fingers, nails scratching harshly with painful high-pitched screeching across the metal. He laughed.

The Moon didn’t answer; didn’t even hear him. But high up in the sky, as though sensing Pitch’s intent, it seemed to dim slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long note today guys.  
> Jeezum. I've realized part one of this series (this story, that is) is already halfway over. I'll have to start work on the sequel soon!  
> That said: Plot. Is. Happening. Important things were both revealed and hinted at in this chapter. I wanted the beginning to be a bit more lighthearted because **hell** , it's getting serious quickly.  
> PITCH GUYS. PITCH.  
> I know some people have been put out by what Manny has done to Jack here. I'm actually writing a _technically_ third part to this series, that is an alternate time-line that shows what would have happened if Manny hadn't made Jack all invisible.  
>  Believe it or not guys, Jack's three hundred year solitude goes much better in this story than it does in that one. I'm not even joking.  
> That story will be coming out once this story and its sequel have been completed. And then I'll be putting the third alternate-timeline story out, but because I'm me and I ship hardcore, it will also be Jackrabbit. Angst, but with a happy ending. Because I'm a sucker for those.  
> Comment, mind-slaves! (I've actually noticed I got fewer on the last chapter. I wonder if I lost readers because of story events?)  
> IMPORTANT NOTE FOR NEXT WEEK'S CHAPTER: There will be no new chapter next week. My dad is getting remarried, so I'll be busy crossing state lines to get there, and I didn't do as well on my last test as I'd have liked, so studying is definitely in my future.


	8. Because it's just a dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild shiny update has appeared!  
> Yeah, just gonna slink in and surprise update this seeing as I somehow wrote the next chapter during downtime after wedding rehearsals (the actual ceremony is tomorrow on the fifth, technically today as it's after midnight) and had this one already typed up KTHXBAI.  
> Songs that were played to this chapter: _Skinny Love_ , the Birdy cover; _United States of Pop 2012 (Shine Brighter)_ by DJ Earworm; _Carry On My Wayward Son_ by Kansas; and _Dead Hearts_ by Stars.

* * * * *

The moon like a flower  
In heaven’s high bower,  
With silent delight,  
Sits and smiles on the night.  
\--William Blake, _Night_ in _Poetical Sketches_ , 1783

* * * * *  
 **Distant Past:**

Seventeen year old Emma Overland shivered, drawing her cloak further around her shoulders. It was cold. She’d loved the cold as a child, and still did in some ways. 

She mumbled out curses under her breath that her parents would most definitely not approve of as she stepped over a root. She shouldn’t have stayed out so late with her friend. She should have left at sunset, when the path to her home was clearer. At least the moon was bright tonight, and the tree branches weren’t enough to block it out. Thank goodness for small blessings. She stumbled on a stray rock and had to catch herself on a tree trunk. Her hand melted the frost on the bark, and she pulled it away. Emma glanced at the fern-like pattern and smiled. It was beautiful. 

_He would have loved it._

Emma closed her eyes and breathed, then blinked and continued on.

“Miss Overland?”

Emma gasped and spun, drawing her arm back in preparation to defend herself.

“Woah, woah!” The figure coming up the path held its hands up. “It’s alright. It’s just me.” He stepped into the moonlight.

“Mister Bennett?” Emma lowered her arm. “What are you doing here?”

Twenty-one year old Jameson Bennett scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I heard at the tavern from your friend that you’d set out on your own. I thought I’d come and provide you an escort.” By the end of his sentence he was shuffling his feet and mumbling shyly.

Emma’s look was exceedingly unimpressed, but as the silence stretched she rolled her eyes and smiled fondly. “Thank you, Mister Bennett. Though I was fine on my own, I suppose and escort would not go amiss.”

Jameson’s smile was sweet in the darkness. “I appreciate it, Miss Overland.”

She considered asking why, but decided not to.

Jameson came up next to her, and they continued to walk. A few quiet moments later they came upon an area where the branches overhead cleared entirely, creating at least ten feet of path where the moon shone unfettered to sparkle on the snow. She paused, admiring the sight.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. 

Jameson glanced at her and the snow. “I’d heard you enjoyed winter more than most,” he commented.

“It’s my favorite season.” _It had been his, too._

“You must love snowball fights,” he joked. When she smiled he continued. “And snowmen, and snow angels, and ice skating—”

“No.”

He blinked at her abrupt interruption. “No?”

“I don’t like ice skating.”

A hush settled around them, and Jameson cast his eyes about desperately for something to say. His gaze settled on a fern-like pattern on the nearby trees. The moonlight seemed brighter as he said, “I wonder who makes them.”

“Hm?” Emma looked up at him, expression withdrawn.

“The patterns in the frost. I wonder who makes them.”

“You mean someone like the Easter Bunny?” Emma’s voice lightened, a small smile twitching her lips. “Or the Tooth Fairy?”

Jameson nodded, relaxing at her grin. “Exactly.”

Emma hummed, and her gaze was drawn to the moon. “Maybe there is.” The words tumbled out before she knew what she was saying.

“Oh?” Jameson crossed his arms. “Who?”

Emma floundered, but the words came unbidden to her lips and tripped out. “A boy. My age. With a smile like freshly fallen snow.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re not just describing a male version of yourself?” Jameson teased. 

Emma huffed, the odd discomfort of speaking words she wasn’t sure were hers replaced by annoyance at his manner. She continued, and as she did the words began to feel less like they’d been forced from her mouth. “No! He has white hair, and…blue eyes! Like the sky on a sunny day. And he likes to draw ferns in the frost and brings snow to play in.”

Her words became faster as she became more animated. Memories began surfacing of a brown haired boy and she focused on them. “He laughs all the time! Bouncing around like he thinks he can fly! And…”

_“Hey Emma, let me show you something.”_

She ran into the brightly lit section of the path, scooping up a handful of snow. She sloppily formed it into a ball, and threw it at Jameson. “He can make perfect snowballs!” 

“Hey!” Jameson dodged, then made a snowball himself and returned fire. They began throwing snow and running in that bright section of path, laughing as they did so.

Jameson cried out, “What else, what else!” as he dodged her throws.

_“Do I have to wear them?” he whined._

“He hates shoes!”

_“I bet I can climb to the top!”_

“He can be reckless!”

_Slim fingers pinched her nose, a warm laugh ringing out as she squeaked._

“He likes to nip at your nose!”

_“There aren’t a lot of people in the area my age.” He shrugged._

“He’s a bit lonely, but…”

_“Goodness Emma, don’t you ever smile? Ah, see! There it is!”_

“…he’s joyful! And he—” Her words hitched in her throat.

_“You’re not gonna fall in. We’re…we’re gonna have a little fun, instead.”_

Her mouth opened and closed, but the words had trouble passing the sudden lump in her throat.

_“Would I trick you?”_

“…he plays tricks,” she finally said. “He _always_ plays tricks.”

They had stopped throwing snowballs and stood ensconced in moonlight. She panted for breath. 

Jameson brushed a hand through brown hair that was slightly darker with melting snow. His cheeks were as flushed as hers, but his eyes shone. He looked at her with a gaze that made her blush. 

“Sounds like something out of a dream,” he whispered wondrously. “What’s his name, then?”

“Jack,” she said immediately, then unthinkingly added, “Frost. His name is Jack Frost.”

“Jack Frost,” Jameson repeated. “You’ll have to tell this tale to the children in the village. I think they’ll like it.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

They continued on. She bid goodbye upon reaching her home, but paused by the door when he called after her. 

“Miss Overland?”

“Yes?” She turned.

He was fidgeting again, but he quickly stopped and looked up at her confidently. “If it isn’t a problem, may I call on you tomorrow?”

She blushed again, and nodded. “Alright. Tomorrow.” She approached the door.

“Miss Overland?”

“Yes?” She turned quickly this time, heart thudding in her chest.

“I’d like very much if…if I could call you Emma?”

She smiled, and in her mind she could almost hear her brother’s teasing. “Yes,” she replied. “I’d like that very much.” 

* * * * *

The myth of Jack Frost spread from there in much the same way a scarf is knitted. Emma Overland provided the cast on. Then with each retelling a stitch was made, until it gained length. The myth would be retold in many iterations, providing twists, yarn-overs, and bumpy purls that strayed from the original design. Until finally what was left was a long misshapen mess of everything, with some well-crafted sections and others so full of holes and gaps it was barely held together. But it was soft and made with the loving hands of many, and most importantly it could be worn. In the end, that would be enough.

* * * * *

The Bennett family soon adopted a new tradition, started by the addition of Emma Bennett née Overland. With each generation, a child would in some way carry a form of the name Jackson. This continued for generations, all the way down to the twenty-first century, where the newest example of the tradition lived on in a little girl by the name of Sophie Jackelyn Bennett.

* * * * *

**Present:**

The eggs were ruined.

Egg shells dug into the bottoms of his feet as he walked down the tunnel. It exited on the surface, and he followed it and searched until he found the Guardians. His face crumpled when the first thing he saw was a child walk through Bunny.

“Where was the spirit?” Toothiana asked North. Her wings were fluttering noticeably slower now, and exhaustion lined the edges of her face and put bruises under her eyes. “I thought it was helping us.”

“I…,” Jack stuttered.

“I don’t know,” North said. “Perhaps it—”

“There was never any help.” Bunny’s voice rang out, pained and hollow.

Tooth clenched her hands at her midsection, wringing her fingers. “Bunny…”

“No, Tooth.” Bunnymund drew up, and turned to them, to _Jack_ with anger and sorrow. He looked near broken. “If there was any help it wouldn’t have left us in our time of need. It wouldn’t have _abandoned_ us to the nightmares!”

“I didn’t!” Jack reached out for Bunny. “I swear I didn’t!”

“There’s no spirit to help us,” he continued, “because there never was one to begin with. It never existed.” He shook his head harshly. “I have to believe that. I have to believe that everything that we could have done was done.”

Jack jolted, eyes wide and mouth open. “I…I…”

Bunny seemed to crumple, voice heavy with weariness. “Easter is new life. It’s _hope_. And now it’s gone. If I let myself believe it could have been saved…”

Jack could think of only one other time he’d ever felt this low. But he couldn’t do now what he’d done then. He’d promised Baby Tooth.

Jack exhaled in one great gust, and bowed his head, eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I never meant for his to happen.” His voice cracked.

The storm in Jack’s chest had been kept going by his anger and worry. But at its center was a tight ball of three-hundred year old hope ( _I’ll save her. They’ll see me. I’ll save her. They’ll see me. I’ll save her. They’ll see me see me **see me**_ ). In an instant it flickered, dwindled, and finally died.

If Jack had looked up he’d have seen Bunny’s harsh flinch, but he didn’t. He kept his head down, pulled up his hood, and let the wind carry him away.

* * * * *

He didn’t stop until he hit Antarctica. The chill tried to nip at him, but there was no cold that Jack Frost could not handle.

He settled himself on the overhang of a great frozen canyon. Snow whipped around him. The wind screamed. He reached into his pockets, and drew out the angel. With closed eyes his fingers traced features he’d long ago memorized. Tremors wracked his shoulders, and it didn’t take long to realize he was crying.

“Dammit,” he muttered bitterly. He wiped the tears away. He’d been doing so well. He’d been able to completely avoid crying since Easter of ’68. A tear left a frosty path down his cheek, and he chuckled humorlessly. There went forty four years down the drain.

_“If I let myself believe…”_

Jack couldn’t blame Bunny. If he’d been in his shoes he’d have been just as angry, just as upset. But understanding why didn’t make it better. Disbelief due to ignorance was one thing. Disbelief by _choice…_

That was something else entirely, and hurt all the more because of it.

As his tears came quicker and the tremors turned to full-bodied sobs, Jack sat and curled his face into his knees. He clutched the angel close to his chest.

“I knew this would happen.”

Jack froze. He slowly tucked the angel away. He stood, picking up his staff in a deceptively loose grip.

“I thought I might find you here when I heard.”

Jack turned reluctantly, knowing what he would see and attempting to prolong his feigned ignorance. Pitch Black stared back at him with eyes that made him shiver with apprehension, and a sharp smile that seemed strangely familiar in a frightening way.

“Hello, Jack Frost.” This was said in a tone that Jack, if he didn’t know any better, would almost say was fond. “It has been _far_ too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...  
> Jack's sister. Yeah. I am going to admit that nothing in this story up to this point has brought me as close to tearing up as that did. I actually came close to watery-eyed. True story. I'm kind of embarrassed. It's probably something to do with being a little sister myself, and if my brother had done what Jack did and I didn't know what had come of him...well. Yeah.  
> As for the ending...  
> Well, you'll just have to wait for the next chapter to find out where that's going, won't you?  
> *IS COMPLETELY UNREPENTANT AND IS NOW GOING TO GO PASS OUT IN EXHAUSTION NOW*  
> PS--Thank you for your reassurances about last chapter's end note. I'm grateful and embarrassed, because now I feel like I was digging for comments and I feel a little bad.


	9. I'll hear you laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Hello everyone! Chapter 9 is here, and 10 has finally let me finish writing it. Now for 11...  
> Anyway, Enjoy all! See you at the end of the chapter!  
> Songs for this chapter: _Paper Walls_ by Yellowcard, _Pet_ by A Perfect Circle, _Some Nights_ by fun., _Just Give Me A Reason_ by P!nk, and _The Ballad of Mona Lisa_ by Panic! at the Disco.

*          *          *          *          *

 

Only in solitude do we find ourselves.

\--Miguel De Unamuno, _Solitude_ in _Essays and Soliloquies,_ 1924

 

*          *          *          *          *

**Past:**

Jack smiled as he sat on the sill of the Bennett’s living room window, calm.

Seven year-old Jamie Bennett wasn’t nearly so composed.

“Are they here yet?” he whined.

“They will be soon,” Michael, Jamie’s 16 year-old babysitter and neighbor, replied wearily.

Jack laughed as Jamie pouted, laying on the floor and rolling under the coffee table. “But I want them to be here _now_.”

“They’ll get here when they get here.” Michael poked Jamie with his foot. “Get out from there.”

“ _Nnnngh._ ”

“Whining won’t help.”

Jack stuffed a knuckle in his mouth as he chortled. God, but he loved this kid. He was so fun and curious, a walking ball of energy. And his hair and eyes…

Jamie reminded him so much of the little girl from so long ago. Jack had watched Jamie grow up for the past four years, since he’d first slipped on an ice patch as a toddler and stood right back up.

“How much longeeer?”

Jack shook his head fondly, and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of tires. “Not much, kiddo.”

When the car doors closing could be heard, Jamie bolted from under the table. “They’re here!”

The two older Bennetts, Brandon and Jennifer, were bombarded the instant the door was open. “She’s here! She’s here!”

“Jamie, Jamie! Slow down! Go sit on the couch, okay?”

Grumbling and reluctant, Jamie did so. Brandon sighed, and smiled. “Thank you for watching him, Michael.”

Michael shook his head. “It was nothing Mister Bennett. Everything went well?”

Brandon looked to Jennifer, and the baby carrier-seat she cradled carefully. She looked tired, with bruised bags under her eyes and exhaustion in the set of her mouth, but she smiled. The action eased her pallor, and she glowed with contentment.

Brandon’s gaze turned soft. “Yes, everything went fine.”

Michael nodded, and went for the door. He peeked into the carrier as he passed, and smiled. “She’s adorable. Let me know if Jamie needs watching again.”

“We will. Thank you Michael.”

Once he was gone, the Bennetts approached the couch, where Jamie bounced impatiently on the cushions. Brandon sat next to him, and pulled his son into a side-arm hug. “Okay, you’ve been good. Do you want to meet your sister now?”

Jamie nodded vigorously. Jennifer set the carrier on the coffee table facing the couch.

A small baby girl in a pretty pink blanket slept, sparse blonde hair sticking out in messy tufts. Jamie looked t her reverently as Jennifer sat at his other side.

“Jamie,” she said, “this is Sophie; your baby sister.”

“She’s wrinkly,” he commented after a moment of silence. Jack burst out in a surprised laugh.

Brandon chuckled. “That’s normal.”

“Oh.” Jamie’s hands clenched restlessly. “Can I hold her?”

Jennifer and Brandon shared a look over Jamie’s head and smiled.

“You have to be very careful,” Jennifer said as she picked Sophie from the carrier and transferred her gently into Jamie’s arms.

“I will.”

“Support her head.”

“I _will_.”

Brandon gave his wife a look that said, ‘this child,’ and took to hovering, ready to intervene just in case.

Jamie didn’t pay attention to his overlooking parents and instead watched the sleepily shifting bundle in his arms.

“Hi Sophie,” he whispered. He appeared awed, some growing unnamable emotion in his eyes. “I’m Jamie.”

In an instant, Jack Frost watched Jamie turn into a big brother. The sharp pang of longing that unexpectedly followed made him slip out the window and leave them to their moment. But he never forgot, and strangely enough, he understood.

Jamie Bennett, Jack felt, would make a very good big brother.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

**Present:**

Bunny stared down at his shrinking hands, worried but distracted. They were all losing power now, his diminishing size more than enough proof of that. As upsetting as that was, something niggled at him.

As the Guardian of Hope and Life, he’d felt hope a million times before. If he focused he could sense the hope in anyone, human or spirit. But to feel hope _die_ , especially when it was a hope that he wasn’t even _focusing_ on…

And it had been such a strong hope! Bunny clenched his fingers. He’d been able to get a feel for its characteristics just before it had vanished from existence. It had been small but _strong_ , worn and bruised and beaten but still there. It had been an _old_ hope.

And then it was just…gone.

The absence of hope was one of the worst things Bunny had ever felt.

As North rallied them into the sleigh to look for the Last Light, Bunny tried to tell himself that he was overreacting. There’d never been a spirit helping them, so there was no way that the hope had belonged to it.

He had the most horrible feeling that he was wrong.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

“Yes, I can see you.” Pitch took a step and paused when Jack raised his staff. “Really Jackson, is that necessary?”

“Jackson?” Jack’s face scrunched in confusion.

Pitch’s gaze scanned his face, eyes widening slightly. “You don’t remember.” Then, louder and amused, “You don’t remember! Oh, this _is_ priceless!”

Pitch controlled his laughter and watched Jack with sudden intensity. Jack tensed, wary but curious. “For you to not remember would mean…of course. So that’s what happened. That’s why he hid you.”

“What are you talking about?!” Jack snapped.

Pitch ignored him and took up stalking the perimeter around Jack. “Well you can’t say he isn’t protective of his favorites.” Pitch was suddenly behind him, his hand sliding across Jack’s eyes and blocking out his vision. “If I’d found you, fresh and unknowing…I suppose I must give him some credit for acting so quickly that night.”

Jack, part confused and part infuriated, swung his staff around, ripping free of Pitch’s light hold. Pitch vanished, reappearing several feet away. “Oh Jack, I understand.”

Jack whirled, snarling. He jumped at him, ice flying from his staff. “You don’t understand _anything!_ ”

“No?” Pitch blocked his blows, black sand and ice melding into spiked towers. “I don’t know what it’s like to be cast out? To not be believed in?”

Their fighting paused as Pitch and Jack stood opposite each other, panting. “To _long_ for…” He trailed, and the look in his eyes (dark and _possessive_ ) made Jack take a step back in the first inkling of terror he’d felt in their entire encounter. Jack’s stomach churned uncomfortably.

“Look what we can create,” Pitch gestured to the spires of ice and sand. “We could be great. Give them a world where _everything_ is Pitch Black and Jack Frost. We can _make_ them believe in you.”

It was appealing for a moment. _Belief_. And if he joined him, Jack knew that Pitch could really make it happen.

But then Jack thought of Sophie Bennett. With her big eyes, and bright blonde hair that her mother could never get her to keep scissors away from. Looking at a monster, smile torn from her lips by fear. Looking at _him_. Because that’s what a world of Pitch Black and Jack Frost would be like.

He didn’t want to be the monster Jamie would try to protect her from.

Pitch watched him with those eyes, and they only cemented his decision.

“They’ll _fear_ both of us,” he finally said. “And that’s not what I want.”

Pitch’s face, which had previously been trying for geniality and patience, morphed into bitterness. “Fine. But,” a smile shouldn’t look so menacing, “wouldn’t you like to know how to reverse your curse?”

Everything in Jack lurched to attention. “You know how to undo it? How to make me visible?”

Pitch nodded. “You would still be invisible to humans who don’t believe, but spirits at least would see you.”

Jack nearly stepped forward, but stopped himself. “What do you want?”

Pitch sighed with an admiring hum. “Clever Jackson. You won’t join me, so…” His eyes fell to Jack’s staff. “That should do nicely. You have a bad habit of interfering.”

Jack clutched the staff to his chest. It was his most prized possession. He _couldn’t._

But Pitch _knew_. He’d said things Jack didn’t understand and if the impression he was getting was correct, Pitch had known Jack from before he was Frost.

Jack’s hands trembled, and he held out the staff. Pitch’s teeth gleamed as he took it.

“Okay,” Jack breathed heavily. “Tell me how to undo it.”

“Hm? Oh.” Pitch glanced up from his inspection of Jack’s staff, which in his hands was no more than a piece of wood. “You can’t.”

“But—!”

“What was done to you can only be done in the very early moments of a spirit’s creation, and is quite permanent.” He seemed to take pleasure in Jack’s falling expression.

“You said—”

Pitch raised a condescending brow. “I lied.” And then he snapped Jack’s staff in two.

The next thing Jack knew he was at the bottom of a great crevice, pain rippling through his chest, and the broken pieces of his staff were tumbling down to the ice at his feet.

“I’ll be back, Jack.” Pitch looked down on him with the same gaze as before. “Perhaps then you’ll be a bit more willing. Who knows? Maybe I’ll keep you down there for a while until you learn to obey _properly_.”

Then he was gone, and Jack was left to grit his teeth with self-hatred and the beginning twinges of panic.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

It had only been ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Jack fruitlessly tried to piece his staff together, writhing in self-loathing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of _course_ Pitch had been lying. How could he have allowed himself for even a moment to have been taken in by his words and false hope? What would Baby Tooth—

Jack set the staff down.

He was ashamed. Baby Tooth, his best friend, was locked away while he’d been feeling sorry for himself.

Selfish. He was so selfish.

He squeezed the staff pieces in his fists. Had it been so bad? Yes. Yes, it had hurt. For three hundred years there had been loneliness and a driving yearning to be seen that he’d never completely fulfilled. But despite, perhaps _in_ spite of all that, there had been fun. There had been snowball fights and icicles and libraries and the faces of precious people now long gone, but it had _been_ there. And if it was all he’d ever get then it would just have to be enough. He would find the respite in the deep, dark places.

Jack shifted, and felt the angel in his pocket poke his stomach. He remembered her sadness when they met, and her smile soon after. But most of all he remembered her laugh. Her joy.

The staff glowed in his hands. Jack scrabbled to piece it together quickly, and the wood melded before his eyes. He let out a cry of victory.

Moments later he shot from the crevice in the wind’s embrace, joy in his voice and a little girl’s laughter ringing in his ears. He flew for Burgess, a little spark of hope coming to life as the storm brewed in his chest once more. But this time it was fed with giddy, bouncing joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? I like you Michael. Even if I never use you again and you were only there for Jamie to have a babysitter. You're a good kid.  
> My mom left my brother and I with our Nana when she gave birth to my first little sister. So that's where that came from.  
> I've made friends with some authors on this site! It makes meh so happeh!  
> But yes, Jack's riding on a bit of a high at the end of this chapter. (And he still is the next.)  
> And no, he doesn't get his memories back yet. That's for later, silly readers.  
> As for Pitch. Well. He's said enough by now that I think you're getting a good overview of why/how Jack is the way he is, even if you lack concrete reasons and details.  
> I may have also joined a club yesterday. :D


	10. But when the morning comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, people! Then we get sequel times!  
> Suggested listening: _Ballroom Blitz_ by The Sweet; _Rock What You Got_ by Superchick; _Breathe_ by He is We; and _Jersey_ by Mayday Parade.

*          *          *          *          *

 

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.

\--Mark Twain, _Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar_ in _Pudd’nhead Wilson,_ 1894

 

*          *          *          *          *

**Past:**

Libraries, Jack decided, were one of his favorite scents. There was something comforting about the smell of paper, ink, and dust. That was probably why one of his favorite places to sleep was in the little-used sections of libraries, where he could pull one of the chairs from the young adult section (they were usually beanbag) between the aisles and drift off to the distant sounds of librarians closing up and the rustling pages of last-minute readers.

He’d get an unpleasant awakening in the morning when the beanbag chair was pulled back to its spot by confused librarians or readers, or the rare occasion where someone sat _through_ him, but it was worth it. There were some libraries who believed a ghost was responsible for the moving furniture and books (which Jack read often; 300 years left a lot of time for self-imposed study and many, _many_ fantasy novels. The inclusion of paperback romances would have been viciously denied with suspiciously frosted cheeks if there had ever been anyone able to ask).  As it were, they were only partially right.

Jack stepped into a back corner of Burgess Library, where a nine year old boy sat against a shelf with a book in hand.  His eyes were riveted to the pages, and a golden glow shined on his face. That was the biggest indicator that Jack had found who he was looking for.

On the little boy’s shoulder was a large, bright green worm in red-framed glasses. Bookworm was a fairly new spirit. He was minor in his duties, but Jack admired him. Such a tenacious little thing, with such an extraordinary ability.

Jack crouched down at their side, and watched the glowing light that seeped from the page. Bookworm read the book aloud in a pleasing voice, and the words formed images in the light.

“ _Holly twisted in the troll’s grip, but it was useless,_ ” he read. “ _The creature’s fingers were the size of bananas, but nowhere near as pliant._ ”

Jack awed as the story came to life before him, the troll with greasy hanks of hair and its fingers wrapped around the small body of Captain Holly Short.

For the next hour Jack was lost in the story and its teller, smile wide with joy.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

**Present:**

           

The lock on Baby Tooth’s cage hadn’t been hard to break.

“You’re okay,” Jack breathed, holding her close to his chest in his palms. “You’re okay.”

Baby Tooth twittered and clutched his hoodie, cooing soothingly. _I’m here. I’m okay._

Jack pulled away, smiling. Baby Tooth pat his face, eyes scanning his features carefully. _You look different._ She seemed to say. _Happier._

“I feel different,” he said. “I feel…like joy. I feel like _joy,_ Baby Tooth.”

Baby Tooth’s eyes widened as Jack’s features smoothed out, stress lines and grief fading away from the shadows of his eyes. Warmth flooded her chest. _I’m glad._

Jack grinned, and looked around at the cages. “You start letting them out.” His eyes were drawn to the globe, and the few flickering lights. “I’ll take a look at that.”

Baby Tooth flew off, and Jack hovered around the globe. One light, then two, then three flickered out, until only one remained. Jack placed his hand by it, and smiled. “Jamie.”

He jumped into the air. “Baby Tooth, you take care of this. I’m gonna go ahead. You catch up when you can!”

When she twittered her affirmative, he took off like a jet stream, the wind roaring behind him over the sound of his laughter.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Jamie believed in him. _Jamie believed in him._

He followed Jamie outside, where they had seen North’s sleigh go down, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a happy ball of everything for the rest of his life.

When Jack had gotten to the Bennett home he’d wanted nothing more than to help as much as he could until the Guardians arrived.

_But this…_

This was so much more amazing than anything he could have asked for.

“It is you; I mean it is you!” Jamie trembled excitement as he looked over the Guardians, culminating in a joyous, “I knew it wasn’t a dream!” Jamie turned to smile at Jack, the Guardians blinking when they realized he was no longer speaking to them.

And then the nightmares descended.

“Jamie, go with them!” Jack cried. The Guardians shepherded Jamie away as Jack rose into the air. Pitch snarled when he saw Jack approach.

“You?” His eyes narrowed. “How did you crawl out of your little hole without my permission?”

Pitch’s words were like an uncomfortable itch on his skin. “I don’t need your permission.”

“Well then,” Pitch murmured menacingly, “perhaps when this is over I can _correct_ that little notion.”

Pitch came at him, and Jack fired his staff. Ice and sand ricocheted, but it was apparent that Jack was failing. He attempted to channel the storm as he had last time, but this storm wasn’t the same as the last. He could not use it with anger.

Jack was knocked from the sky, and he crashed to the concrete in an alleyway, where the Guardians stood with a shivering Jamie. Jack crawled to his knees in front of Jamie. Behind him, nightmares whinnied as Pitch approached.

He looked Jamie in the eye, and placed a hand on his shoulder (because he could _do that_ now). “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m scared,” Jamie whispered.

All the breath left Jack in a single _whoosh._

“It will be fine,” North said, hand on Jamie’s other shoulder.

“We’ll protect you, mate,” Bunny added, his tiny furred body shifting in preparation.

Jack looked at them, at Tooth and her limp wings. How could he fight this? He stuck a hand in his pocket. How could he--?

He paused. His fingers ran over the contours of the wooden horse Phil had carved him. A horse that wasn’t malevolent or vicious. A horse that was, dare he say it, perhaps even a little _joyful_. The storm in him resonated, and suddenly Jack knew exactly what he had to do.

“I need you to believe in me,” Jack said.

“I do, Jack,” Jamie replied.  
“Good.” He pulled the horse and angel from his pockets, and placed them in Jamie’s hands. “Hold onto these for me, alright?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Jamie? Who are you talking to?” North asked. He blinked at the items in Jamie’s hands. “Where did you get those?”

They ignored him. Jack smiled. “What I have to.”

He stood, and turned to face Pitch. “Sorry Baby Tooth,” he whispered. The Bogeyman wasn’t given a chance to speak before Jack grinned and exploded.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

He didn’t need clouds or wind to spread himself. The magic was different this time. It had come quicker, more naturally to his call. It spread beneath his skin and turned him the shining blue of his smiley-flakes. When he exploded, it was with a smile.

And then he was everywhere.

Jack spread himself through the black sand of Pitch’s nightmares, ignoring the pain (the pain, the pain, oh _gods_ the pain). Only when he’d touched them all, when every bit of him had found its mark, did he release his magic.

He couldn’t kill fear.

But he could change it.

He could make it into laughs, into happiness and courage. He could change it into _fun_ and _joy_.

And that’s exactly what he did.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

To the Guardians it seemed as though nothing had changed. And then Pitch’s nightmare bucked him off.

“Wha—?” Pitch jerked to his feet. “What are you _doing?!_ Get back here!”

The nightmare didn’t obey. Rather, it and the other nightmares began nibbling at each other playfully, running about in circles and galloping down the road. One approached Jamie slowly, appearing curious. It watched him with eyes tinted blue, and Jamie smiled. Pulling away and ignoring North’s shout, Jamie touched the nightmare.

Black sand became gold, and the tides officially turned.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Phil smiled as dinosaurs of golden sand passed overhead. He’d been one of the last yeti through North’s portal, and by now the battlefield looked more like a playground. The nightmares had been changed back into golden sand, and the few who hadn’t had long since run off. Pitch had slinked off somewhere to lick his wounds, but none of the Guardians seemed to know exactly where he’d snuck off to.

The child who was the Last Light had called on his friends for aid, and now they ran about throwing snowballs with the Guardians. Phil made to ready a snowball, when his eye caught on the objects in the Last Light’s hands. Abandoning his task, Phil approached and plucked the boy up to his eye level.

“Whoa! Hey!” Jamie squirmed in Phil’s grip.

Phil pointed to the wooden horse.

“What?” Jamie looked down at the horse and angel. “Jack Frost gave them to me to hold onto—Jack!” Jamie suddenly appeared frantic. “Have you seen him? He did something and I…”

Phil set Jamie down. Jack Frost? Jack Frost.

_Ah._

So, his cold presence had a name after all.

Phil shook his head.

Jamie ran off, heading for the nearest Guardian, which happened to be the Tooth Fairy. “We have to find him!”

Phil considered following but then he spotted a pinpoint of blue light floating through the air. He followed it with his eyes, and it was joined by more specks of light, all heading into town.

Phil followed.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Toothiana had been joined by the other Guardians, all newly restored and Sandy back among their ranks.

“Miss Tooth Fairy! Miss Tooth Fairy!” Jamie shouted.

She smiled at him. “What is it, Jamie?”

“Have you seen Jack? I can’t find him!” The boy’s eyes were watery.

“Jack? Is he one of your friends? Where did you last see him?” At the prospect of a missing child, Toothiana became very serious. The others did as well.

“He was in the alley with us,” Jamie said, confusion scrunching his eyebrows. “Didn’t you see him? He was right there!”

Sandy jumped in with a burst of sand, forming a figure none of the Guardians recognized and a question mark.

“Yeah, that’s him!” Jamie pointed. “That’s Jack Frost!”

“Jack Frost?” Tooth repeated. “But Jack Frost isn’t—”

Sandy interrupted her with a vicious headshake.

“Sandy, are you saying that Jack Frost is real?” North’s voice was skeptical.

Sandy nodded. He showed Jack fighting off a nightmare and collecting teeth, followed by an infinity sign.

“He’s been helping us,” Bunny translated, voice low with dawning realization. “He’s always been helping us.”

“The fifth Guardian,” Tooth said. “The one we couldn’t see in the crystal. Because…” She hesitated.

Sandy finished with an image of the globe and its lights of belief, with a big X over it.

“No one believed in him.” North sounded tired. Then he looked away thoughtfully and murmured, “That is old magic. Why would Manny…?”

“Yeah,” Jamie piped up, and reached out to tug on Bunny’s bandolier. “He told me you were real, just when I was beginning to think that maybe you weren’t.” The last bit was said with embarrassment.

“Jack Frost,” Bunny repeated slowly, “made you believe in _me_?”

Jamie nodded.

If guilt were made of cloth, Bunny felt like he’d be wearing a three-piece suit.

“But now I can’t find him,” Jamie added.

Tooth scanned the area, eyes alighting on a fairy that was fluttering frantically nearby. Wasn’t that…? She flew over, and the little one came to her in a panic.

“Shh,” she soothed, “it’s alright. What’s wrong?”

‘ _I can’t find him!’_ she chirped.

“Who?” But she already knew the answer, didn’t she?

‘ _Jack!’_

Tooth kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry I never believed you,” she whispered.

Tooth carried Baby Tooth back to the group. “This is the fairy that has always believed in Jack Frost,” she explained. “If anyone can find him, it’s her. Jamie, tell her where you last saw him again.”

“In that alleyway in town,” he answered. “He seemed a bit upset and he said…,” Jamie looked closely at the little fairy. “Are you Baby Tooth?”

Toothiana blinked when the fairy nodded. _‘He named me,’_ she chirped to Tooth.

“He said he was sorry, and then he just kind of, exploded.”

Baby Tooth froze in muted horror. _‘Not again.’_ Baby Tooth looked Toothiana in the eyes. _‘He promised!’_

Baby Tooth took off like a shot, and the others followed, Jamie scooped up into Bunny’s arms.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

When the Guardians converged on the alley, they had to pause as all their doubts were quelled in an instant. Only Sandy didn’t hesitate to approach the yeti that held the limp form of Jack Frost. The fairy—Baby Tooth, Bunny recalled Jamie mentioning—curled on his chest, crying her little heart out and squeaking with worry.

He looked down at him—at Jack bloody Frost—and exhaled heavily.

_“Didn’t you see him?”_

_Why didn’t you see him?_

_“He was right there!”_

_He was **always** right there._

His own words came back to float in the front of Bunny’s mind.

_“There’s no spirit to help us, because there never was one to begin with. It never existed.”_

That horrible, horrible feeling of hope _dying_.

Bunny scrubbed his face with a hand. He looked down at the unconscious spirit, and felt a new, fresh hope in the other when he sought it out. But it wasn’t like the other hope. This one was quieter, almost resigned.

“Let’s get him back to workshop,” North said, oddly subdued. “And then we shall…”

Bunny nodded understandingly.

Then, they could start to make up for this.

And from the looks of it, boy did they have a lot to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bookworm is a brainchild that just happened, okay? The book he's reading is the first Artemis Fowl, by Eoin Colfer. (I LOVE THIS SERIES.)  
> Now that that's done...I'm officially writing sequel stuff now, since the last chapter of this is written. Huh. *smiles slowly, with lots of teeth and narrowed eyes*


	11. Come out moon, come out wishing star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep.  
> We're here.  
> Last chapter. (Of the first part of this series.)  
> It's been a blast, guys.  
> Seriously.  
> I love you all.  
> See you at the end of the chapter.  
> Songs chapter was written to: _Beam Me Up_ by P!nk, _Bang the Doldrums_ by Fall Out Boy, _Animal_ by Neon Trees, and _I Will Go the Distance_ from Hercules (the Disney movie, of course).  
>  I'll read through and do another double-check edit later when I'm not so tired.

*          *          *          *          *

 

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

\--John Dryden, _Alexander’s Feast,_ 1697

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

**Present:**

Jack woke up slowly and very sore. His dark lashes fluttered on his cheeks, bleary blue eyes blinking their way to clarity. He became aware of something breathing gently next to his head. Jack groaned as he awoke entirely, turning his head to look left.

Baby Tooth slept next to him on the pillow. Her tiny chest rose and fell with her breaths, feathers twitching with her small movements. Jack smiled, relieved and happy. He squirmed, and finally realized that he was not in _his_ bed.

He sat up, looking around the room curiously. It was big and red, a fire crackling merrily in the fire place. The furniture was all dark stained wood and deep green upholstery. He was in a four-poster bed. The cushions were big enough on their own to cradle half of his body. Someone had removed the majority of the covers however, and Jack had been left covered by a thin white sheet.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. _How had he…?_ Had Baby Tooth somehow…?

A soft hum made him look back at Baby Tooth, who blinked slowly as she came out of her slumber.

Jack smiled softly. “Hey Baby Tooth,” he whispered.

Baby Tooth bolted up at the sound of his voice, and seeing him awake she flew into his chest. He held her for a moment before she darted up to his face. Her twitters were scolding and quick, but her eyes were shiny with relief. Guilt clenched his throat.

Jack sighed. “I know I broke my promise.” He looked at her earnestly. “I’m sorry, but it was all I could think to do.”

Her lips quivered before she firmed them and nodded. _I know,_ her expression said. But her eyes added, _please, please never again._

Jack smiled, but pointedly didn’t offer reassurance. If the time came that he needed to use it again, he would. He didn’t want to make another promise that he might break.

To distract the knowing in her gaze, he drew his eyes around the room. “Baby Tooth, are we at the pole?”

She nodded.

“I thought so.” Jack got out of bed, and looked around quickly. “Where’s my staff?” He felt his pockets. “Where’s my angel? My horse?” He panicked for a moment, but then he saw them on the bedside table. Relieved, he retrieved them and stuffed them in his pocket. Baby Tooth must have also gotten them from Jamie somehow…

Something niggled that this whole situation was off, but he was tired and wanted to be home in his little nest of blankets and pillows. If that meant accepting things as they were for now, he would.

He cast his eyes about for his staff, but didn’t see it anywhere nearby. “Where’s my staff?” he repeated.

Baby Tooth grabbed his hood and tugged, an indication to follow. He did. She led them from the bedroom and into a sitting room just down the hall. The Guardians sat in armchairs around the fireplace. Jack’s staff leaned on the far wall by a large window that overlooked miles and miles of bright snow.

Jack breathed slowly, relief flooding through him. At least they were alright. He’d been aware enough to know his super smiley flakes had worked on Pitch’s nightmares, but he hadn’t been conscious for very long once his magic started coming together.

His heart soared when he saw Sandy sleeping soundly in an armchair. Thank goodness. _Thank goodness._

And Sandy believed, he remembered. He…he had more believers now, didn’t he? Three. Baby Tooth, Sandy, and Jamie. How amazing was that?

But he’d deal with that later. When he wasn’t tired and sore. When he’d had time to cuddle into his blanket-bed-nest and hug his stuffed tiger and actually sleep comfortably. Sandy was sleeping anyway. He was probably just as tired as Jack was, after being trapped by Pitch like that.

Jack’s feet pattered on the wood as he walked across the room and passed the Guardians, focusing on his staff. He didn’t notice Bunny’s ears perk, or North turning around to look over at him, or Tooth nudging Sandy awake.

Jack took his staff in hand, and smiled. Baby Tooth hovered in front of him, a gentle grin on her lips. She made a soft coo.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Jack said curiously. “How did you get me here anyway, Baby Tooth? I was expecting to wake up in that alley.”

Baby Tooth shook her head, and looked over his shoulder, grin growing.

“Baby Tooth that doesn’t make any sense—what are you looking at?” Before he could move to see, a warm, furred hand rested on his shoulder.

Jack stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head to look at his shoulder.

_It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He was going to blink and—_

“Afraid that’d be us, mate.”

Was he shaking? He was pretty sure he was shaking. Jack turned around, and came face to face with Bunnymund. North, Tooth, and Sandy hovered behind him. And they were all four looking at him. At _Jack_.

Jack’s mind rebelled against his heart and the words it wanted to say. Words he’d already said too many times.

 _Just once more_ , his heart, his fresh, hesitant hope whispered. _Just one more time._

So Jack, in a shaking, quiet voice said, “Can you see me?”

           

*          *          *          *          *

 

Bunny could have had a hundred children walk through him right now, and it still wouldn’t make up for the guilt he felt staring into Jack Frost’s wide, pleading eyes.

And that _hope_. New and quiet though it was, it seemed to have slotted itself so deep into Jack it was like hope had fused with his very being. Bunny considered this with what he knew of the previous hope (the one that had died, that he had helped _kill_ ), and its aged, strong, ragged quality.

Jack Frost, myth among myths. Invisible to them all.

But always, constantly _hoping_.

Bunny swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he rasped. “We can see you.”

The hope saturated the air, thick and sweet to Bunny’s senses. “You can see me?” Jack repeated. A huge, ecstatic laugh spread his lips into a wide, pearly smile. Beside him, Bunny heard Tooth sigh. “You can _see_ me!”

To Bunny’s surprise, Jack jumped into the air with a whoop, doing a flip and floating for a second before landing crouched on the window’s wide ledge. Jack’s hands came up, staff set aside, and covered his smile. He watched them over his hands with big bright eyes that began to tear at the edges. His shoulders trembled.

“You can see me,” Jack said, muffled by his hands, and by his tone you’d have thought he’d just been given the world.

The little fairy—Baby Tooth, he reminded himself again—landed on Jack’s knee. She pat him softly, and Jack’s eyes scrunched with a hidden smile.

(It was _almost_ cute.)

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

“Jack Frost,” North said.

Jack lowered his hands, breathing deeply to call back his tears. He could do that later, when he was home and there weren’t people around that could see him. (And he was in that bed he kept telling himself about.) “Yes?”

North seemed quieter than usual, uncertain how to speak. “We would like to make you an offer.”

“Okay?”

“The Man in the Moon,” Toothiana continued, “told us at the beginning of all this that there was a fifth Guardian.”

“Oh yeah,” Jack muttered. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“You—,” Tooth blinked. “You knew?”

“I…might have, um, been hanging around not long after,” he admitted.

Tooth’s wings drooped for a second before she continued. “Well Jack, we would like—”

“—for you to become Guardian!” North finished, arms wide. Tooth shot North an exasperated look, but nodded gently at Jack. Sandy gave a double thumbs up. Bunny nodded when Jack glanced at him.

Jack bit the inside of his lip, looking at the floor as he thought. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to work with them and protect the kids (like Sophie, like Jamie), but…

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking up as he resolved his decision, “but I can’t. I’m snowballs and fun times and joy, and I’m finally just figuring that out for myself. I’m not a Guardian. At least, not right now. Besides,” Jack smirked playfully, “we barely know each other!”

There was a moment of silence as the serious undertone of those words sank in, were acknowledged, and accepted. They didn’t know each other. But there was hope for a _yet._

North chuckled and nodded. “I understand. If you should ever change your mind…?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, glancing down and back up. “I’ll let you know.” Jack stood, hopping from the ledge and opening the window in preparation to leave. He suddenly felt overwhelmed. He suspected it would be like this for a while until he got used to people. (What a strange thought. He’d never had people to get used to before. It was nice.) “I’m gonna go. Gotta make sure the Den’s clean and hasn’t been invaded by stray cats again. Nothing like wildlife gnawing on your furniture to give you a bad day, right?” Oh goodness he was rambling. But what did you say to people who could _respond?_

“Jack.”

Jack looked at Bunny, jittery. “Yes?”

Bunny smiled, at _him_ , and Jack was reminded of his admiring thoughts from the Warren before Easter. He repressed a frosty blush as Bunny said, “Don’t be a stranger. Come visit. I’m sure we’d all,” he gestured, “like to get to know you better.”

Jack’s eyes scanned their nodding heads and smiles, and his jitters abated. He looked at Bunny contemplatively, and summoned his courage. “I will.”

Then he jerked forward and wrapped his arms around Bunny clumsily. (His fur really was as soft as he’d imagined, and he was so _warm_ in comparison to Jack.) “Thank you. For believing in me.”

Bunny’s arms hovered in surprise, then came to wrap around Jack (and _oh,_ that was different). “You’re welcome.”

Jack buried his face in the fur of Bunny’s shoulder, a few reluctant tears slipping from his eyes.

So, this was a hug.

Jack decided he really liked it.

 

**Future:**

             

A boy drew in the frost on the outside of his living room window. Right glove clutched in his left, his slim fingers numbed with cold as he carefully wrote.

“What are you doing?”

The boy yelped and spun to his father, who poked his head out of the front door. “ _Dad!_ ”

Jamie Bennett laughed at his son, and came fully from the house. He rubbed his hands over his arms, red turtle-neck sweater scrunching as he hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Sorry, sorry.” He tried to look at the window past his son’s head. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

The boy blushed faintly and shuffled his feet. “Writing a letter.”

Jamie’s smile was slow and pleased. “To Jack Frost?”

He nodded, then drew his shoulders back and firmed his face. “He gets letters you write on windows.” He stared at Jamie seriously. “He _is_ real, you know.”

Jamie nodded solemnly. “He does. He is.”

His son looked at him wondrously. “You believe me?”

“Of course.” Jamie nodded at the front door. “Come on. I think Cupcake’s making cocoa, and I’ve got a story to tell. I think you’ll like it.”

“Mom’s making cocoa?” The boy reached up and took Jamie’s hand. “What’s the story about?”

“Jack Frost, of course,” Jamie answered. “And the Sandman, and the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus.”

“Sweet!”

“Boys!” The call came faintly from inside the house. “Cocoa!”

Jamie opened the front door. “What’d I tell ya? Let’s go, I think your Mom would want to hear the story. She knows it too.”

“Really?”

The door closed behind them.

A moment later Jack Frost hovered in front of the frosted window, reading.  A small smile tilted his lips.

“Oi, Frostbite.” Jack turned to the vaguely grumpy looking Bunny that stood behind him. An open tunnel at his side showed how he’d gotten there. “There you are. I was looking all over the Warren for you, mate. I thought you said you wanted to paint eggs?”

Jack laughed, touched and pleased that Bunny would take time away from work so close to Easter just to come get him. Bunny would never know just how much that meant to him.

“I do, Aster,” Jack replied. “I just had to take care of something first.” He gestured to the window.

Bunny looked at it, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Another one? Ankle-biters are getting creative with ’em, aren’t they?”

Jack’s soft eyes and smile lit with joy, and Bunny shifted a little as his heart beat picked up. “They are,” Jack acknowledged.

Jack hopped into the air, smile turning mischievous as he began to circle Bunny, _slowly,_ holding Bunny’s darkening eyes as the Pooka watched him heatedly. At the right time in his circling Jack darted forward and ran a finger down Bunny’s spine to the base of his tail. “Race you home, Aster!” He dived into the tunnel.

Bunny looked after him, muscles flexing as his lips pulled into a lascivious grin. “Oh,” he said in a husky purr, “you don’t want to race a rabbit, mate.” He pounced after Jack, tunnel closing.

The letter written in frost, having been received, began to fade.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

_Dear Jack Frost,_

_Can’t we have just one more snow day before Easter?_

_Sincerely,_

_Jackson Bennett_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. We did it! :D  
> Finished my first multi-chapter story for this fandom!  
> By the way, sequel will show how they got from present to future. That inbetween stuff, that's sequel.  
> Be on the lookout for the sequel later next week! (Pssst, that's the one where the Jackrabbit bits really start to kick into high gear. I did warn for slow burn, here.)  
> I promise, your questions shall be answered in the sequel.  
> *Looks at the outline of the sequel that took about four hours to make.*  
> ...I've got some shit planned, okay?


End file.
